SALLY  OF   MISSOURI 


SALLY       OF 
MISSOURI 

BY      R          E          YOUNG 


New  York  :  McClure,  Phillips  $  Co.  :  Mcmiii 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  &  CO. 


Published,  October,  1903 


Dedicated  to  Florence  Wickliffe 


M52S45G 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  STEERING  OF  NEW  YORK,       ....        3 

II.  PlNEY  OF  THE  WOODS,      .....         23 

III.  THE  PROMISED  LAND,      .        .        .        .        .36 

IV.  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON,         .        .      62 
V.  BOOM  TIME  IN  THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT,      73 

VI.  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER,         ....      95 

VII.  THE  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS,       ....    109 

VIII.  WHEN  A  GIRL  FINDS  HERSELF,      .        .        .    119 

IX.     GOOD-BYE! 137 

X.  WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES  ?    .        .        .        .153 

XI.    TALL  THINGS, 170 

XII.  THE  COLOSSUS  OF  CANAAN,     .        .        .        .194 

XIII.  Miss  SALLY  MADEIRA'S  SWEETHEART,     .        .    203 

XIV.  WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT,        .        .        .222 
XV.  A  MISTAKE  SOMEWHERE,         ....    242 

XVI.     MADEIRA'S  PEACE 251 

XVII.    JUST  A  BOY, 258 

XVIII.  A  PRETTY  PRECARIOUSNESS,    .        .        .        .268 

XIX.  WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE,           .        .        .274 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 


PRINCIPAL  CHARACTERS  IN  THE  STORY 

Steering,  of  New  York 
Old  Bernique,  of  French  St.  Louis 
Piney,  of  the   Woods 
Crittenton  Madeira,  of  Canaan 
Sally,  of  Missouri 

There  are  also  some  kind-hearted  people: 
Farmers,  Housewives,  Store -keepers,  Miners,  etc. 


H 


Chapter  One 

STEERING    OF    NEW    YORK 

OO-EE-OW-OHME ! " 

It   was   half   a   sob,   half  a  laugh, 

and,  half  sobbing,  half  laughing,  the 
young  man  stopped  his  horse  on  the  crest  of  the 
Tigmore  Hills,  in  the  Ozark  Uplift,  raised  in  his 
stirrups,  and  looked  the  country  through  and 
through,  as  though  he  must  see  into  its  very  heart. 
In  the  brilliant  mid-afternoon  light  the  Southwest 
unrolled  below  him  and  around  him  in  a  ragged 
bigness  and  an  unconquered  loneliness.  As  far  as 
eye  could  reach  tumbled  the  knobs,  the  flats,  the 
waste  weedy  places,  the  gullies,  the  rock-pitted 
sweeps  of  table-land  and  the  timbered  hills  of  the 
Uplift.  The  buffalo  grass  trembled  across  the  low 
lands  in  long,  shaking  billows  that  had  all  the  effect 
of  scared  flight.  From  the  base  of  the  Tigmores  a 
line  of  river  bottom  stretched  westward,  and  beyond 
the  bottom  curved  a  pale,  quiet  river.  In  the 
distance  wraiths  of  blue  smoke  falteringly  bespoke 
[3] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

the  presence  of  people  and  cabins;  on  a  cleared 
hill  an  object  that  might  be  horse  or  dog  or  man 
was  silhouetted,  small  and  vague;  and  in  the 
farthest  west  the  hoister  of  a  deserted  zinc  mine 
cut  up  against  the  sky  a  little  lonely  way.  The 
near  and  dominant  things  were  constantly  those 
tremulous,  fleeing  billows  of  grass,  the  straight 
strong  trees,  the  sullen  rocks,  the  silent,  shivering 
water. 

"  Hoo-ee-ow!  " 

It  was  too  vast,  too  urgent.  Waiting,  ready,  it 
lay  there  aggressively,  like  a  challenge.  As  the 
young  man  faced  it,  it  claimed  him,  forcing  back 
his  past  life,  his  old  habits,  his  old  haunts,  into 
the  realm  of  myth  and  moonshine.  His  old  habits ! 
His  old  haunts !  They  hung  aloof  in  his  con 
sciousness,  shadow  pictures,  colourless  and  re 
mote.  .  .  .  That  zestful  young  life  at  New 
Haven,  the  swift  years  of  it,  the  fine  last  day  of 
it,  Yale  honours  upon  him,  his  enthusiasms  cutting 
away  into  the  future,  his  big  shoulders  squared, 
his  face  set  toward  great  things,  the  righting  of 
wrongs,  grand  reforms,  the  careers  of  nations.  .  .  . 

A  bachelor  hotel ;  a  club  whose  windows  looked  out 
[4] 


STEERING  OF  NEW  YORK 
on  the  avenue;  an  office  where  Carington  and  he 
had  pretended  to  work  down  on  Nassau  Street; 
drawing-rooms  where  Carington  and  he  had  pre 
tended  to  be  in  love,  on  various  streets;  the  whole 
gay,  meaningless  panorama  of  his  life  as  a  home 
less,  unplaced  New  York  sojourner,  who  had  con 
sidered  that  he  had  too  much  money  to  be  anything 
seriously  and  too  little  money  to  do  anything  effec 
tively.  .  .  .  Then  another  picture,  jerking, 
mazy,  a  study  in  kinematics — "  Crazy  Monday  " 
on  the  Street,  Carington  and  he  swept  along  in 
that  day's  whirlwind  of  speculation.  .  .  .  A 
blank  in  the  panorama  while  he  got  used  to  things 
and  thought  things  out.  .  .  .  Then  a  wintry  twi 
light  at  the  club,  Carington  and  he  by  the  win 
dow,  talking  it  over,  looking  out  upon  the  drifted 
light  of  the  city,  loving  the  city,  in  the  way  of  New 
Yorkers.  Then  Carington's  voice  saying,  "  Bruce? 
Bruce,  m'  son  ?  Why  don't  you  try  Missouri  ?  " 
Saying  it  with  that  in  his  voice  to  indicate  that  there 
was  nothing  else  left  to  try.  Then  the  long  thought 
ful  talk,  Carington  and  he  still  by  the  window,  while 
he  showed  Carington  how  little  chance  he  had  even 
in  Missouri;  then  Carington's  strong-hearted  in- 
[6] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

sistence  that,  in  view  of  the  agitation  over  the  ore 
discoveries  at  Joplin,  he  go  on  "  out  there  "  and 
prospect ;  and  then  Carington's  foolishly  irrelevant 
heel-piece,  "  Miss  Gossamer  sails  for  Europe  Satur 
day  !  "  and  the  sudden  appeal  of  the  notion  to  go 
"  out  there,"  its  sharp  striking-in.  .  .  .  Caring- 
ton  and  he  taking  counsel  with  some  of  the  other 
fellows  in  his  rooms  later  on,  all  the  deep  voices 
roaring  at  once,  all  the  boys  insulting  him  at  once, 
belittling  his  cigars,  saying  sharp  things  about  his 
pictures,  that  being  their  way  of  showing  him  that 
they  were  badly  broken  up  over  his  leaving  them; 
all  their  eyes  shining  interest  in  him  and  hope  for 
him  and  even  envy  of  him,  as  the  young  man  who 
was  "  going  out  West,"  while  the  great  soft  fluff 
of  smoke  in  the  room  made  the  past  a  dream  and  the 
present  an  illusion  and  the  future  a  phantasm.  .  .  . 
Then  the  long  journey  overland,  the  little  impetus 
toward  the  new  life  flickering  drearily,  while  he 
gripped  up  his  heart  for  any  fate,  growing  quieter 
and  quieter,  but  more  and  more  determined  to  take 
Missouri  as  she  came.  .  .  .  Then  Missouri  her 
self,  the  stop  at  St.  Louis,  the  dip  into  the  State 
southwestward,  toward  the  lead  and  zinc  country 
[6] 


STEERING  OF  NEW  YORK 
and  his  own  debatable  land;  good-bye  to  the  rail 
road  ;  by  team,  in  company  with  other  prospectors, 
through  the  sang  hills,  up  and  down  stony  ridges, 
along  vast  cattle  ranges.  .  .  .  And  now  here,  quite 
alone,  twenty  miles  from  the  railroad,  Missouri  on 
all  sides  of  him,  close-timbered,  rock-ribbed,  gulch- 
broken,  mortally  lonely,  billowing  around  him, 
over  him,  possessing  him. 

That  sense  of  being  possessed  by  Missouri,  com 
mitted  to  her,  had  grown  upon  him  intolerably  all 
day.  All  day  he  had  been  fighting  it  and  resent 
ing  it.  At  various  points  along  the  rocky  ridge 
road  he  had  come  upon  hill  cabins  and  hill  people, 
and,  facing  them,  his  fight  and  his  resentment  had 
been  momentarily  vicious. 

"  Gudday,  stranger ! "  the  people  had  called 
from  the  porches  of  the  hill  cabins,  "  Hikin'  over 
the  Ridge?" 

"  Yes,  friend,"  Steering  had  called  back,  and 
had  then  projected  his  unfailing,  anxious  question: 
"  Can  you  tell  me  how  far  it  is  to  Poetical?  " 

At  that  the  people  from  the  porches  had  got  up 
and  come  across  the  baked  weeds  of  the  cabin  yard. 
Assembled  at  the  stile-block  in  front  of  him,  the 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

people  invariably  lined  up  as  a  long,  gaunt  farmer, 
a  thin,  flat-chested  woman,  a  troop  of  dusty  chil 
dren,  and  a  yellow  dog. 

4  Yass,  I  cand  tell  you.  It's  six  sights  and  a 
right  smart  chanst  f'm  here  to  Poetical,  stranger," 
the  long,  gaunt  farmer  had  invariably  drawled, 
with  more  accommodation  than  information. 

"  Six  sights — six  sights  and  a  right  what 
what?  " 

"  W'y,"  the  Missourian  had  explained  f  orbear- 
ingly,  blinking  toward  the  sun,  and  waving  his 
loosely  jointed  arms  westward,  "  it's  this-a-way — 
you'll  git  sight  of  Poetical  f'm  six  hills,  an'  whend 
you  git  to  the  bottom  of  the  sixt'  hill  they's  a  right 
smart  chanst  you  won't  be  to  Poetical  evum  yit 
awhile.  You  cand  see  far  in  this  air.  It's  some 
mild  f'm  here  to  Poetical,  an'  sharp  ridin'  at  that." 

Each  time  that  Steering  had  heard  that,  little 
varied  in  phraseology,  save  for  the  number  of 
"  sights,"  according  to  his  progress,  he  had  felt 
so  dismal  and  looked  so  dismal  that,  each  time,  the 
native  before  him  had  added  quickly,  "  Better  git 
off  an'  spin'  the  night  with  us.  Aint  got  much, 
but  what  we  got's  yourn." 
[8] 


STEERING   OF    NEW   YORK 

Each  time  the  house  beyond  the  stile-block  had 
looked  miserably  uninviting, — a  plough  on  the  front 
porch,  harness  on  the  porch  posts;  all  around  the 
house  the  yard  litter  of  cheap  farm  life,  a  broken- 
down  harrow,  broken-backed  furniture,  straw, 
corn-shucks,  ghosts  of  past  winters  and  past  sum 
mers  on  the  farm,  that  had  shuffled  out  there  and 
died  there;  each  time  the  cleared  patches  beyond 
the  house  had  looked  lean;  each  time  the  native 
had  been  sallow  and  toil-worn;  but  each  time  that 
welcome  word  had  been  a  finely  perfect  thing,  good 
to  hear. 

Steering  had  noticed  that  in  declining  each  in 
vitation  he  had  suddenly  stopped  short  in  his  in 
ner  fight  and  resentment  and  assumed  his  best  man 
ner,  as  though  his  finest  and  highest  courtesy  had 
responded  instinctively  to  something  in  kind. 

Idling  on  for  a  more  expansive  moment  at  each 
cabin  door,  the  conversation  had  usually  shaped 
itself  like  this: 

"  Two  has  already  rid  over  the  Ridge  to-day — 

Old  Bernique  and  the  tramp-boy.     Old  Bernique 

he's  on  the  trail  ag'in.     The  tramp-boy  he's  kim 

along  so  far  with  Old  Bernique."     In  saying  this, 

[9] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

or  something  very  like  it,  the  hill  farmer  who 
spoke  had  always  seemed  to  want  it  definitely 
understood  that  the  neighbourhood  had  its  ex 
citements,  and  seemed  to  argue  that  if  the  stranger 
knew  anything  he  must  know  Old  Bernique  and 
the  tramp-boy.  Proceeding  leisurely  and  re 
flectively,  as  though  he  had  decided  in  his  own 
mind  how  to  classify  the  stranger,  the  farmer 
had  generally  added,  "  Lots  of  prospectors  ride 
by  nowadays.  They  head  in  to  the  relroad  f'm 
here, — you  know  you  aint  a-goin'  to  ketch  the 
relroad  at  Poetical?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  when  I  left  my  friends  at 
Bessietown  yesterday  I  was  hoping  I  could  make 
it  all  the  way  across  country  to  Canaan  before  to 
night." 

"  Oh,  you  goin'  on  to  Canaan?  " 

"  Yes,  going  on  to  Canaan."  Each  time  the 
words  had  echoed  through  Steering's  head  with  an 
old-time  promise  in  a  mocking  refrain,  "  Going  on 
to  Canaan !  Going  on  to  Canaan !  " 

Immediately  the  hill  tribe  had  eyed  him  with 
renewed  interest.  "  Going  on  to  Canaan ! "  the 

farmer  at  their  head  had  repeated,  an  impressive 
[10] 


STEERING   OF    NEW    YORK 

esteem  in  his  treatment  of  the  word  Canaan. 
"  Gre't  taown,  Canaan !  You  strike  the  relroad 
tha'  all  righty.  Dog-oned  ef  th'aint  abaout 
ev'thing  tha'.  Got  the  cote-haouse  an'  all,  the 
relroad  an'  all — Miss  Sally  Madeira,  Mist'  Crit 
Madeira's  daughter,  she  lives  tha'." 

It  had  gone  like  that  every  time.  Not  once  in 
the  last  twenty  miles  had  Steering  exchanged  a 
word  with  man  or  woman  without  this  sort  of  refer 
ence  to  Canaan  and,  collaterally,  to  Miss  Sally 
Madeira.  Miss  Sally,  he  had  perceived  early,  ex 
cited  in  the  hill-farm  people  a  species  of  awe,  as 
though  she  were  on  a  par  with  the  circus,  thauma- 
turgic,  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 

"  The  court  house,  the  railroad  and  Miss 
Sally !  "  he  had  finally  learned  to  murmur,  in  order 
to  meet  the  demands  of  the  situation. 

"  Yass,  oh  yass."  The  farmer  had  given  his 
head  a  dogged  twist,  and  looked  as  though  he  were 
cognisant  of  the  fact  that  in  certain  essential 
particulars  Canaan  did  not  have  to  yield  an  inch 
of  her  title  to  equality  with  the  biggest  and  best 
anywhere.  "  Yass,  saouthwest  Mizzourah's  hard 
to  beat  in  sots;  th'aint  no  State  in  the  Union 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

quite  like  her.  She's  diff'rent,"  he  had  said,  rock 
ing  on  his  heels,  his  chest  lifting. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  right  about  that,"  Steer 
ing  had  answered,  every  time  with  profounder  em 
phasis. 

Off  here  alone  on  the  ridge  road  now,  Mis 
souri's  unspeakable  difference  was  coming  over  him 
in  great  submerging  waves.  Though  he  tried 
bravely  to  face  the  State  and  have  it  out  with  her, 
he  couldn't  do  it. 

"  Missouri,"  he  said  at  last  to  himself,  and  to 
her  confidentially,  "  I'd  like  to  cry.  I'd  give  five 
hundred  plunkerinos  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  cry." 
Then  he  flicked  his  riding-crop  over  his  leg  in  a 
devilishly  nonchalant  way,  and  rode  straight 
forward. 

The  road  went  on  interminably,  its  dust-white 
line,  with  the  rocky  ridge  through  the  middle,  dip 
ping  and  rising  and  getting  nowhere.  The  horse 
grew  nervous  and  shied  repeatedly  from  sheer 
loneliness.  The  road  entered  a  wood.  Deep  in  its 
leafy  fastness  wild  steers  heard  the  beat  of  the 
horse's  hoofs,  laid  back  their  ears  and  galloped 

into  safer  depths,  bellowing  with  alarm.     Steer- 
[12] 


STEERING  OF  NEW  YORK 
ing  gave  up,  as  helplessly  homesick  as  a  baby,  his 
head  dropped  forward  on  his  chest  in  a  settled 
melancholy,  from  which  he  did  not  rouse  until  he 
had  cleared  the  timber;  and  then  only  because  he 
saw  a  horseman  down  the  ridge  road  ahead  of  him. 
What  instantly  attracted  Steering's  attention  was 
the  mail's  back.  It  was  a  small  but  proud  back.  , 
It  had  none  of  the  hill  stoop.  It  was  erect,  sinewy, 
soldierly.  Steering  was  so  lonely  that  he  would 
have  welcomed  companionship  with  a  chipmunk. 
The  chance  of  companionship  with  a  man  who  had 
an  interesting  back  grew  luminous.  He  urged  his 
horse  forward  eagerly,  almost  hysterically  glad  of 
his  opportunity. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  he  called,  having  recourse 
to  his  well-tried  form  of  greeting.  "  Can  you  tell 
me  how  far  it  is  to  Poetical  ?  " 

The  man  addressed  half  turned,  disclosing  a 
thin  and  delicate  face  to  Steering.  Then  he  reined 
his  horse  in  gently.  "  Good-evening,  sair.  Is  it 
that  you  inquire  to  Poetical?  It  is  a  vair'  long 
five  miles  f'm  here,  sair." 

Steering  rode  up  beside  the  man,  more  and  more 

pleased,   regarding   and   analysing.       The   man's 
[13] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

hickory  shirt,  his  warped  boots,  his  blue  jean 
trousers,  his  heavy  buskins  were  mean  and  earth- 
stained,  but  inherent  in  the  quality  of  his  low, 
musical  voice  and  courteous  manner  was  an  in 
tangible  suggestion  of  something  different,  some 
bigger  and  happier  past,  to  which,  go  where  he 
would  and  clothe  himself  as  he  might,  voice  and 
manner  had  remained  true. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Steering,  almost  sighing,  "  if 
you  will  mind  a  little  of  my  company.  The  road 
is  terribly  lonely,  sir.  The  country  is  terribly 
lonely  in  fact." 

"  Yes,  sair,  a  tr-r-ue  word  that.  It  is  lonely. 
But  sair,  what  will  you  of  this  particulaire  por 
tion?  It  is  vair'  yong  in  the  Tigmores.  It  cannot 
be  populate'  in  a  day,  a  year.  You,  sair,  come 
from  the  East,  hein?  Sair,  relativement,  effort 
against  effort,  they  have  not  done  as  much  in  the 
East  in  feefty  years  as  we  have  done  in  the  South 
west  in  twenty, — believe  that,  sair."  It  was  that 
same  feeling  for  the  State,  that  quick,  leaping  pas 
sion  of  nativity  that  Steering  had  thus  far  found 
in  every  Missourian  with  whom  he  had  come  in 

contact. 

[14] 


STEERING    OF    NEW    YORK 

"  You  are  a  Missourian,  I  see,"  said  Steering, 
to  keep  his  companion  talking  along  the  line  of  this 
enlivening  enthusiasm. 

"  Indeed,  sair,  yes.  From  that  Saint  Louis — 
Fran9ois  Placide  DeLassus  Bernique,  at  your 
service." 

"  Thank  you.  My  name  is  Steering,  from  New 
York,  if  you  please,  but  very  deeply  interested  in 
Missouri  just  now,  sir." 

From  that  on  they  made  easy  progress  into  ac 
quaintance.  Bernique  proved  talkative,  full  of 
anecdotes  about  Missouri's  past,  and  full  of  belief 
in  her  future.  In  his  rich  loquacity  he  roamed  the 
history  of  the  State  painstakingly  for  the  edifica 
tion  of  Steering,  as  one  who  stood  at  Missouri's 
gates,  inquiring  of  her  true  inwardness.  He 
told  Missouri's  history  back  to  Spain  and 
France,  forward  to  unspeakable  splendour.  He 
was  intelligent,  naive,  unusual.  Steering,  re 
sponsive  to  the  attraction  that  was  by  and  by 
to  hold  them  strongly  together,  listened  de 
lightedly. 

"  Yessair," — through  Bernique's   speech   ran   a 

reminiscence   of   his   native   tongue,    faint,    sweet, 
[15] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

fleeting,  like  the  thought  of  home, — "  yessair,  it 
is  I  know  the  fashion  in  the  eastern  States  to  con- 
sidaire  all  the  West  as  vair'  yong  countree,  and  it 
is  tr-r-ue,  sair,  that  you,  par  example,  have  come 
upon  the  most  yong  part  of  thees  gr-r-eat  State  of 
Missouri,  but  it  is  to  be  remembaire  that  this  Mis 
souri  is  not  all  rocks  and  wood,  uncultivated  stand 
ing  toward  the  future,  but  that  her  story  date  back 
to  a  remoter  period  and  a  fuller  and  finer  civilisa 
tion,  in  that  day  when  France  and  Spain  held  sway 
over  the  province  of  Louisiana,  than  does  the  story 
of  many  of  the  eastern  States  who  hold  this  countree 
new,  raw,  uncivilise'.  I  myself," — continued  the 
speaker,  spreading  out  one  slender  hand  with  an 
exquisite  grace, — "  have  gr-r-own  up  in  this  State 
of  Missouri,  at  that  St.  Louis,  with  the  most  pro 
found  convincement,  aftaire  much  travel  and  ob 
servation,  that  for  elegance  we  have  in  that  city  the 
most  to  it  belong  people  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  yessair !  " 

"  Ah,  well,"  admitted  Steering,  borne  along  rap 
idly  on  the  vehement  current  of  Bernique's  ardour, 
"  with  your  sort  of  spirit  in  the  people  of  Mis 
souri,  whatever  she  was  and  whatever  she  is  can  be 
[16] 


STEERING   OF    NEW   YORK 
but    a    mighty    promise    of    what    she    will    be 
come : 

"  Ah,  there  you  have  it,  the  note !  "  interrupted 
Fran£ois  Placide  DeLassus  Bernique  eagerly, 
"  What  she  will  become !  That  is  the  gr-r-and 
thought,  sair.  I  who  say  it  have  preserve'  my  be 
lief  in  what  she  will  become  through  the  dis 
couragement  ter-r-ible.  I  who  speak  have  pros- 
pec'  this  land  from  end  to  end.  I  know  her 
largesse.  Believe  me,  sair,  the  tr-r-easures  that 
were  sought  by  the  Castilian  knights  of  old 
through  all  thees  parts  are  indeed  to  be  found 
here, — not  the  white  silvaire  of  Castilian  dreams, 
but  iron !  Coppaire  !  Lead !  Zinc !  " 

"  I  suppose,"  ventured  Steering,  "  that  it  would 
be  foolish  to  hope  for  deposits  in  this  part  of  the 
State  similar  to  the  deposits  about  Joplin,  and  all 
through  the  thirty-mile  stretch?  " 

"  Pouf !  "  Old  Bernique  made  one  of  his  pretty 
gestures,  but  said  nothing. 

"  You  have,"  went  on  Steering,  "  you  have  to 
the  west  here  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  Mr.  Ber 
nique? " 

"  Eh?    Yessair,    the    Canaan    Tigmores,"    re- 
[17] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

peated  old  Bernique,  looking  out  over  the  ridges  of 
hills  and  the  flats  listlessly;  so  listlessly  that,  by 
one  of  those  flashes  of  intuitive  perception  that 
light  us  far  along  waiting  paths,  Steering  knew 
suddenly  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  man  whose  ex 
perience  had  somehow  crossed  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores. — "  And  also,  Mistaire  Steering,  we  have 
to  the  far  south  the  Boston  Range,  in  Arkan 
sas,  and  far  to  the  west  the  Kiamichi,  in  the 
Territoree." 

"  Yes,  but  about  these  Canaan  Tigmores,  Mr. 
Bernique,"  insisted  Steering,  not  at  all  deflected 
by  Bernique's  effort,  "  what  about  your  Canaan 
Tigmores,  Mr.  Bernique?  "  Steering's  experience 
with  the  French  Missourian  had  been  too  frag 
mentary  for  anything  but  conjecture  to  come  of 
it,  and  his  own  plans  were  too  immature  and  too 
heavily  conditioned  for  him  to  project  them 
directly,  but  he  had  a  feeling  that  he  should  want 
to  know  Bernique  better  some  fine  day,  and  he  was 
moved  to  get  some  sort  of  grip  upon  the  old  man's 
interest  while  the  chance  lasted.  "  The  Canaan 
Tigmores  are  not  as  far  away  as  the  Boston  Moun 
tains,  Mr.  Bernique.  Much  nearer  than  the  Kia- 
[18] 


STEERING   OF    NEW   YORK 
michi.     What's  your  idea  about  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores — in  relation  to  zinc,  Mr.  Bernique?  " 

"  Pouf !  "  The  old  man  made  airy  rings  of 
smoke  from  the  cigar  with  which  Steering  had 
furnished  him.  He  would  not  talk  about  the 
Canaan  Tigmores  at  all.  "  You  will  see  Mr.  Crit- 
tenton  Madeira  in  Canaan  about  all  that,"  he  said. 
"  And  now,  sir,  I  have  the  regret  to  leave  you.  Our 
roads  part  at  the  sign-post  yonder.  I  ride 
east." 

"Well,  tell  you  what  I  wish!"  cried  Steering, 
with  the  pertinacity  that  was  a  part  of  him.  "  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Crittenton  Madeira  now, 
and  I  wish  you  would  come  to  me  in  Canaan  some 
soon  day  and  let  me  tell  you  the  result  of  my  busi 
ness  with  him."  Time  was  limited,  for  the  horses 
were  close  to  the  cross-roads  sign-post.  "  The 
Canaan  Tigmores  won't  always  belong  to  old  Bruce 
Grierson,  Mr.  Bernique !  "  It  was  a  random  shots 
but  it  told  against  Bernique's  glumness. 

"  Pouf !    The  bat-fool !    The  blind  mole !  " 

"  The  Canaan  Tigmores  are  entailed,  Mr.  Ber 
nique  !  The  next  owner  may  have  eyes ! " 

"  God  grant !  "  growled  Old  Bernique. 
[19] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

*'  Grey  eyes,  eh,  Mr.  Bernique? "  Steering 
flashed  his  own  eyes  smilingly  at  the  French  Mis- 
sourian.  The  horses  were  at  the  sign-post. 

"Eh,    what?"    cried    Old    Bernique,    "is    it 

that ?  " 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  Mr.  Bernique?  " 
"  I  ride  east  for  many  a  day,  I  think,"  said  Ber 
nique  dubiously. 

"  But  you  come  back  to  Canaan  ?  " 
"  Ah,  God  in  Heaven,  yes !  "  cried  the  old  man 
then,  with  a  sudden  fierce  impetuosity,  "  I  ride 
east,  ride  west,  ride  the  wide  world  ovaire,  but  al 
ways  I  come  back, — come  back  to  Canaan."  He 
stopped  abruptly,  as  though  afraid  of  himself, 
and  faced  Steering  for  a  silent  moment. 

Up  to  the  silence,  cleaving  it  gently,  musically, 
there  came  unexpectedly  the  notes  of  a  rollicking 
song: 

"  The  later s  grow  an9  grow,  they  grow!  " 
On  the  instant  old  Bernique's  face  relaxed  pleas 
antly.      He   half   grunted,  half  laughed.      "The 
potato  song !  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  gay,  his  mouth 
twitching.     "  Mistaire  Steering,  if  you  will  ride  on 

a  little  way  you  will  have  fine  company.     That  is 
[20] 


STEERING   OF    NEW   YORK, 
the  tramp-boy  yondaire.     He  is  in  the  woods  above 
the  gulch  there.     He  will  have  emerge'  to  the  road 
presently.     The  yong  scamp  is  musical,  sair !  " 

"  Aye,  hear  that !  "  cried  Steering  appreciatively, 
"  gloriously  musical ! "  Out  of  the  great  green 
timber  mounted  the  tenor  notes,  piercingly  sweet, 
pure,  true,  like  a  bird-call: 

"  A  tater's  good  'ith  'lasses." 

Bernique's  horse  was  growing  restless.  The  old 
man  rode  a  little  nearer  Steering  and  regarded  him 
searchingly.  "  Good-bye,  sair,"  he  said  then,  "  it 
shall  be  what  you  say.  I  shall  come  back  to  you 
in  Canaan." 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Bernique.  I'm  glad  to  have 
you  decide  that  way."  Steering  clung  to  his  no 
tion  that  he  and  Bernique  were  to  know  each  other 
better.  They  shook  hands  under  the  cross-roads 
sign-post  with  understanding. 

The  rain  was  coming  on  fast.  All  the  east  lay 
grey  behind  Steering,  all  the  west  grey  before  him 
as  he  moved  away  from  the  cross-roads.  But  out 
of  the  west  rolled  the  melody  of  the  carolling  boy, 
the  voice  of  one  singing  in  the  wilderness,  young 
and  undismayed. 

[21] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Under  the  cross-roads  sign-post  old  Berniquc 
sat  his  horse  motionless  for  a  time,  looking  after 
Steering.  From  Steering  his  eyes  roamed  afar 
toward  the  Canaan  Tigmores.  A  little  shiver 
caught  him.  "  The  man  that  was  expect',"  he 
mused,  "  the  man  that  was  expect' !  "  Then  he, 
too,  rode  away. 


Chapter   Two 

PINEY    OF    THE    WOODS 

WHERE  the  ridge  road  dropped  down 
close  to  the  pale  river  at  a  dip  in  the 
hills,  Steering  overtook  the  tramp- 
boy,  hallooed  to  him,  and  watched  him,  as  he  turned 
his  pony  about  and  sat  waitingly.  He  was  a  youth 
of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  and  from  under  the  peak  of 
his  felt  hat,  slouched  and  old,  peered  out  a 
slim  young  gypsy  face,  crowned  by  a  thick  mop  of 
black  hair  that  tumbled  about  wide  temples.  Mo 
tionless  there,  the  tremble  of  his  song  still  on  his 
lips  and  the  gladness  of  youth  and  health  on  his 
face,  the  tramp-boy  made  Steering  think  of  the 
rosy  young  shepherd  Adonis,  he  was  so  glowing,  so 
fine  and  fresh. 

"  I  have  been  right  after  you  all  the  way  from 
the  cross-roads,"  explained  Steering,  by  way  of  a 
beginning,  riding  up  to  the  lad's  side,  "  I  have 
just  parted  from  a  friend  of  yours, — Mr.  Ber- 

nique, — so  you  see  we  are  almost  friends  ourselves." 
[23] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

"  A'most."  The  boy  smiled,  showing  white 
teeth.  He  seemed  to  like  Bruce's  method  of  deal 
ing  with  him.  "  Wuz  Unc'  Bernique  cross  be 
cause  I  didn't  go  rat  back  like  I  said  I'd  do?  "  he 
queried  slily. 

"  No,  I  think  not.  And  for  my  part,  I  am  glad 
you  didn't,  for  I  am  hoping  that  if  you  are  going 
toward  Poetical  you  won't  mind  my  company. 
You  see,  it's  pretty  dog-on  lonely."  A  very 
little  of  the  ridge  road  sufficed  to  make  Bruce 
sick  for  comradeship,  and  his  voice  showed  it. 
The  boy  turned  an  impressionable,  sympathetic 
face. 

"  Come  rat  along,"  he  said.  He  looked  at  Bruce 
a  moment  questioningly  before  adding,  "  Reckin's 
haow  you  aint  usen  to  the  quiet  yit.  Taint  so 
lonely,  the  woods  an'  the  hills  whend  you  know 
um."  He  twisted  his  head  like  a  bird  and  looked 
out  across  the  extensive  sweep  of  the  land  and  the 
long  slow  curve  of  the  river,  a  deep  inspiration 
swelling  his  chest.  "  Simlike  they  up  an'  talk  to 
you,  the  woods  an'  the  hills  an'  the  quiet,  whend 
you  know  um,"  he  said. 

All  on  the  instant  Steering  knew  that,  as  in  the 
[24] 


PINEY  OF  THE  WOODS 
case  of  Old  Bernique,  here  again  was  character. 
"  Character  "  seemed  distinctly  the  richest  and  the 
pleasantest  thing  in  Missouri.  He  rode  in  a  little 
closer  to  his  companion,  drawn  to  him  irresistibly, 
recognising  in  him  the  sweet,  untutored  poetry  of 
a  wildwood  nature,  whose  young  timidity  was 
trembling  and  steadying  into  the  placating,  mag 
netic  assurance  of  a  boy,  fresh-hearted  as  a  berry. 
Steering  had  encountered  the  same  sort  of  poetry 
in  other  unspoiled  boys,  splendid  child-men  whom 
he  had  known  in  other  walks  of  life,  and  he  had  a 
quick  affection  for  it.  It  was  always  as  though  on 
its  crystal  clearness  a  man  might  see  the  white  sails 
of  his  own  youth  set  back  toward  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  you  are  right 
about  that.  They  do  talk,  the  hills  and  the  woods 
and  the  quiet, — only  a  fellow  grows  dull,  gets  his 
ears  full  of  electric  gongs  and  push-bells,  and  for 
gets  to  listen." 

The  boy  looked  up  with  quick-witted  question. 
"  Y'aint  f'm  this  part  of  the  kentry,  air  you?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No.  I  am  from — well,  from  Bessietown  last. 
Where  are  you  from?  " 

[25] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

The  boy  laughed  and  glanced  gaily  at  his  briar- 
torn  clothes.  "  F'm  the  woods,"  he  said. 

"  My  name  is  Bruce  Steering." 

"  Mine's  Piney." 

They  fell  then  to  talking  of  many  things,  as 
they  rode  toward  Poetical,  but  inevitably  they 
spoke  chiefly  of  the  great  State  of  Missouri.  On 
the  subject  of  Missouri  the  boy  talked,  as  old 
Bernique  had  talked,  with  expansive  naivete.  In 
his  roamings  he  had  ridden  the  State  up  and  down, 
and  had  found  much  to  love  in  it.  "  You'll  like 
her,  too,  all  righty,"  he  told  Bruce  confidently, 
"  whend  you  git  broke  to  her."  On  one  of  youth's 
candid  impulses  to  speak  up  for  the  life  on  the  in 
side,  the  cherished  desire,  the  gallant  ideal,  the 
buoyant  fancy,  he  made  a  supple,  sudden  diver 
gence  in  the  conversation.  "  D'you  know,"  he  said, 
"  they  aint  no  place  whur  I'd  drur  be  than  Miz- 
zourah  ceppen  only  one." 

"Where's  that?"  asked  Bruce,  and  to  his  im 
mense  astonishment  the  boy  answered  quickly: 

"  Italy." 

"Why,  how  does  that  happen,  Piney?     Ever 

been  there  ?  " 

[26] 


PINEY    OF    THE    WOODS 

"  Nope.  Hcarn  Unc'  Bernique  tell  abaout  it, 
thass  all.  It  'lid  suit  me,  though.  I  know  that." 
His  eyes  grew  dreamy  and  he  seemed  to  be  looking 
far  beyond  Missouri.  One  could  almost  see  the 
fine,  illusory  spell  of  the  far  Latin  land  upon  him, 
the  spiritual  bond,  the  pull  of  temperament  that 
made  the  hill  boy  at  one  with  Italy,  blest  of  poetry. 
"  I  d'n  know  huccome  I  want  to  go  so  bad,"  he 
went  on  with  a  deep  breath,  "  wouldn'  turn 
araoun'  th'ee  times  on  my  heels  to  go  anywhur 
else,  but  I  shoo  do  want  to  go  to  Italy." 

"  Were  your  people  Italians,  Piney?  " 

"  Nope.  Kim  f'm  S'loois.  But  still,  I  got  that 
feelin'  abaout  Italy.  Simlike  I'd  be — oh,  sorta  at 
home  tha'.  Had  that  same  feelin'  ev'  since  Unc' 
Bernique  begand  to  tell  me  abaout  Italy.  I'm 
a-goin'  tha',  tew,  some  day,  all  righty,"  he  con 
cluded  at  last,  waking  up  from  his  little  dream 
slowly.  "  Goin'  to  be  long  over  to  Poetical,  Mist' 
Steerin'?  "  he  diverged  again,  with  his  lively  men 
tal  agility. 

"  No,  son.  From  Poetical  I  am  going  on  to  " — 
Bruce  stopped  to  gather  strength  to  project  the 

word  with  the  large  and  cadenced  inflection  he  had 
[27] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

enjoyed  in  the  hill  farm  people, —  "  going  on  to 
Canaan !  " 

"  Gre't  gosh ! "  said  the  boy,  and  something  in 
the  way  he  said  it  made  Bruce  look  at  him  quickly. 
Piney's  brows  were  lifted  and  his  lips  were  pulled 
back.  He  seemed  to  try  to  be  as  much  impressed 
as  Bruce  expected  him  to  be.  To  Steering  this  sort 
of  comradeship  was  growing  golden. 

"  Well,  now,"  he  said,  playing  with  the  little 
joy  of  being  understood,  "  haven't  they  the  court 
house  at  Canaan  ?  And  the  railroad  ?  And  haven't 
they  Miss  Betsy, — or  Miss — Miss " 

"  Sally." 

"  Ah,  yes,  Sally !     Know  Sally,  son?  " 

"  Ev'body  in  the  Tigmores  knows  her." 

"  I  am  beginning  to  want  to  know  Sally  my 
self."  Bruce  let  his  eyes  go  drowsing  toward  the 
pale  river  up  which  the  slow  rain  was  beating,  and 
talked  foolishness  idly :  "  Red-cheeked  Sally ! 
Freckled  Sally  !  Roly-poly  Sally  !  What's  a  Mis 
souri  girl  like  anyway,  Piney?  " 

"  Wy,  people  think  she's  purty,"  protested  the 
boy  with  a  quick  palpitant  shyness,  "  an'  most 

people  1 ,"  he  stopped  trying  to  talk,  laughing 

[28] 


PINEY   OF    THE    WOODS 

brusquely  and  flushing  with  a  very  young  man's 
self -consciousness. 

"  All  of  which  goes  to  prove  me  an  ass,"  cried 
Bruce,  "  for  talking  about  a  lady  whom  I  have  never 
seen."  Looking  repentantly  at  Piney,  he  felt  a 
sudden  ache  for  him.  He  was  not  very  familiar 
with  conditions  in  Canaan,  but  it  occurred  to  him 
suddenly  that  even  in  Canaan  there  might  be  social 
gradations,  and  that  the  tramp-boy,  rare  little  chap 
though  he  seemed  to  be,  was  probably  miles  away 
from  the  daughter  of  the  promoter,  Mr.  Critten- 
ton  Madeira.  "  I  retract,  Piney,"  he  added 
gravely. 

"  Aw ! — not  as  I  keer  whut  you  say  abaout 
her, — or  whut  anybody  says."  Piney  slashed  at 
some  brilliant  sumach  by  the  wayside  and  his  mobile 
lips  jerked  and  quivered. 

66  I  should  have  supposed  that  she  was  older — 
well,  than  you,"  said  Bruce,  trying  to  set  himself 
right. 

"  May  be  in  what  she  knows, — aint  in  what  she 

feels, — not  as  I  keer The  boy  was  so  deli- 

ciously  new  to  his  own  emotions  that  they  flashed 

away  beyond  his  control,  minute  by  minute.     His 
[29] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

eyes  looked  misty,  with  a  little  spark  of  high  light 
cutting  bravely  through.  He  would  not  finish  his 
sentence.  "  Did  Unc'  Bernique  say  whend  he's 
comin'  back  to  Canaan?  "  he  asked  moodily. 

"  No,  he  didn't,  though  I  urged  him  to.  That's 
a  fine  old  man,  Piney." 

Piney's  eyes  softened  beautifully.  "  Takes 
mighty  good  keer  of  me,"  he  said. 

"Is  he  kin  to  you?" 

"  I  d'n  know  abaout  that.  He's  took  my  side 
always.  Y'see,  I  aint  got  no  people  an'  I  just 
ride  araoun'.  Y'see," — Piney  quivered  with  boyish 
fire, — "  I  just  got  to  ride  araoun'.  I  cay  n't  stay 
on  no  farm  an'  in  no  haouse.  Kills  me.  I  got  to 
git  to  the  woods  an'  the  hills.  An'  Unc'  Bernique 
he  stands  by  me,  an'  keeps  me  in  his  shack  whend 
they's  any  trouble  abaout  it.  Y'see,  some  people 
think  I  oughter — oughter  work !  "  Piney  laughed 
from  the  gay,  melodious  depths  of  his  vagabond 
heart  and  Bruce  laughed  with  him.  "  An'  Unc' 
Bernique  has  he'ped  me  abaout  that,"  explained 
the  tramp-boy.  He  let  his  dancing  eyes  dart  off 
to  the  west  where  the  hills  were  shouldering  into  a 

thickening  drift  of  grey.    ."  Hi,  look  yonder!  "  he 
[30] 


PINEY   OF    THE    WOODS 

cried.     "  We  got  to  cut  and  run  to  git  to  Poetical 
before  that  rain." 

So  they  cut  and  ran,  the  boy  setting  the  pace 
and  singing  lustily,  with  that  high  melody  of 
voice,  as  of  temperament,  of  his,  as  they  dashed 
down  the  road  in  the  first  cool  scattering  pelt  of 
the  rain.  "  Want  to  go  to  the  ftotel,  don't  you?  " 
he  called  over  his  shoulder,  and  Bruce  called  yes. 
It  was  grey,  rainy  twilight  now,  and  through  the 
gloom  five  or  six  houses  sprawled  out  across  the 
little  plateau  toward  which  the  road  twisted.  Some 
geese  flew  up  under  the  feet  of  the  horses,  squawk 
ing  wildly,  some  "razor-back  "  hogs  grunted  from 
the  dust-wallows,  some  cow-bells  tinkled,  some  small 
yellow  spheres  of  light  shone  through  windows. 

"  How  far  from  Poetical,  Piney? "  shouted 
Steering. 

"  'Baout  a  foot,"  answered  Piney.  He  made  his 
lightning-like  pony  go  more  slowly  so  that  Bruce's 
horse  might  come  alongside,  and  he  shook  his  head, 
his  ready  sympathy  again  on  his  face.  "  Say,  it's 
goin'  to  be  kinder  tough  on  }^ou  to  stay  here  to 
night,  aint  it?  This  is  ev'  spittin'  bit  there  is  tew 
Poetical.  Here's  the  hotel." 
[31] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

They  drew  rein  before  a  rickety  two-story  frame 
building  and  Bruce  lifted  his  shoulders  shudder- 
ingly.  A  man  came  out  on  the  hotel  porch,  said 
"  Howdy,"  and  waited. 

"  Say," — Piney  in  a  lower  tone,  voiced  a  notion 
that  evidently  drifted  in  to  him  on  the  high  tide 
of  his  sympathy, — "  why  don't  you  ride  over  to 
Mist'  Crit  Madeira's?  Taint  so  far.  I'll  show 
you  the  way.  They  cand  take  care  of  you  over 
tha'.  They'd  be  glad  to  have  you.  You  cand 
caount  on  that.  It's  that-a-way  in  Mizzourah." 
The  boy's  conscientious  earnestness  was  sweet.  He 
was  in  good  spirits  again  and  he  whisked  one 
roughly-booted  foot  out  of  its  stirrup  and  laid  it 
across  his  saddle-horn,  while  he  regarded  Bruce, 
"  You  cand  git  ter  see  Miss  Sally  ef  you  do  that," 
he  added,  pursing  up  his  lips,  a  subtle  sense  of 
humour  on  his  face.  "  You  cand  see  what  Miz 
zourah  girls  are  like." 

"  Now  come,  Piney,  you  know  I've  been  thinking 
everything  beautiful  about  Miss  Sally  since  I 
found  out — something — 

"Aw!     Tisn't  no  such  thing.     She  jes  likes  to 

hear  me  sing.     You're  crazy!  "     The  tramp-boy's 
[32] 


PINEY   OF    THE   WOODS 

young  voice  had  its  fashion  of  breaking  and  shrill 
ing  into  a  high  soprano,  like  a  girl's,  for  emphasis ; 
he  was  as  red  as  a  beet,  and  he  put  his  foot  back 
in  the  stirrup,  thrust  out  his  under  jaw  and  looked 
at  the  stirrup  as  though  he  had  to  determine  how 
much  wood  had  gone  into  its  making.  Again 
Bruce  was  conscious  of  a  little  ache  for  the  boy. 
"  But  you  go  on  over  tha',"  insisted  Piney. 

"  No !  Thank  you  for  trying  to  look  out  for  me, 
son,  but  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  that.  Oh,  I  can 
stand  this  all  right,"  cried  Bruce,  with  a  flare  of 
big  bravery  and,  turning  to  face  the  hotel,  was 
seized  by  his  loneliness  so  violently  that  he  shud 
dered  again.  "  Here  Piney !  "  he  cried  on  a  sudden 
inspiration,  "  why  won't  you  come  in  and  stay  with 
me?  Huh?  How  would  that  suit  you?  We  can 
talk  and  smoke." 

"  Naw,"  Piney  extended  his  hand  and  shook  his 
head,  as  though  to  push  the  hotel  out  of  the  range 
of  possibilities  for  him,  "I  couldn't.  Much  oblige'. 
But  I  cay  n't  sleep  in  haouses.  Got  to  git  back  to 
the  shack  in  the  woods.  Wisht  you'd  go  on  over  to 
Madeira's." 

"  No.     I'll  buck  it  out  here  alone,"  lamented 
[33] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Bruce.  He  hated  to  lose  Piney  and  take  up  the 
gloomy,  rainy  evening  alone  on  this  little,  high,  re 
mote  place  in  the  Missouri  hills. 

"  See  you  again  some  day,  then,"  Piney  prom 
ised  in  final  farewell.  "  I'm  up  an'  daown  the 
Ridge  rat  frequent,  I'll  run  'crosst  you." 

"  Well  now,  I  should  hope  so,"  cried  Bruce  cor 
dially.  "  Don't  you  ever  come  to  Canaan  ?  " 

"  Nope.  Hate  a  taown !  But  me  an'  Unc'  Ber- 
nique  will  strike  you  sometime,  somewheres  along 
the  trail.  S'long!" 

"  So  long,  Piney,  so  long ! " 

The  boy  turned  his  pony  to  the  hills.  The  man 
on  the  porch  came  on  out  to  take  charge  of  Bruce 
and  Bruce's  horse.  Black  night  settled  down. 
Through  the  darkness  cut  the  sound  of  the  squawk 
ing  geese,  the  tinkling  cow-bells,  the  grunting 
hogs.  Lonely,  lonely  Missouri!  Bruce  went  in 
side,  to  sit  in  a  little  room  upstairs,  with  his  chin 
in  his  hand,  his  eyes  staring  through  the  window, 
his  thoughts  roaming  after  Carington,  the  office  on 
Nassau  Street,  a  girl  who  was  a  dainty  fluff  of  lace 
and  silk.  In  his  ears  rang  the  sound  of  Caring- 
ton's  voice :  "  Why  don't  you  try  Missouri, — Miss 
[34] 


PINEY   OF    THE    WOODS 

Gossamer  sails, — Why  don't  you  try  Missouri, — 
Miss  Gossamer  sails — "  a  faint,  recedent  measure, 
and  intermingling  with  it  the  sound  of  a  boy's 
voice  singing  gaily  on  the  misty  hills : 

"A  tater's  good  'ith  'lasses." 

Steering  leaned  far  out  of  the  window,  eager  for 
the  lad's  music.  It  was  so  sweet. 


[35] 


Chapter   Three 

THE    PROMISED    LAND 

FROM  the  remotest  beginning  of  things 
for  the  Southwest,  Canaan  had  been  a 
"  gre't  taown."  From  the  beginning  she 
had  been  the  county  seat,  and  from  the  beginning 
there  had  poured  through  her  one  long  street,  with 
its  two  or  three  short  tributaries,  the  whole  volume 
of  business  of  Tigmore  County;  the  strawberries, 
the  chickens,  the  ginseng.  Almost  from  the  begin 
ning,  too,  she  had  had  the  newspaper  and  the  hotel 
and  some  talk  about  a  bank.  Canaanites  held  their 
heads  high.  So  high  that  when  it  began  to  be 
rumoured  that  the  railroad  was  showing  a  disposi 
tion  to  curve  down  toward  Tigmore  County,  the 
Canaanites,  unable  to  see  past  their  noses,  ap 
pointed  a  committee  to  go  up  to  Jefferson  City  to 
protest  to  the  Legislature  against  the  proposed  in 
novation.  The  committee  contended  to  the  Legis 
lature  that  the  railroad  would  cut  off  trade  by 

starting  up  rival  towns.     It  also  contended  that 
[36] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

ox-teams  had  been  used  for  many  years  and  were 
reliable,  rain  or  shine,  whereas  in  wet  weather  the 
railroad  tracks  would  get  slick  and  be  impractic 
able.  Moreover,  and  moreunder,  there  was  no 
danger  of  an  ox-team  blowin'  up  and  bustin'  and 
killin'  somebody. 

The  railroad  was  melted  to  acquiescence  by  the 
appeal,  and  went  its  way  some  ten  miles  west  of 
Canaan.  Towns  sprang  into  being  along  the  line 
of  the  serpent's  coil.  Canaan  said  all  right,  but 
wait  till  the  spring  rains  come.  The  rains  came, 
the  trains  went  by  over  the  slick  tracks  gracefully. 
Canaan  said  all  right,  but  wait  till  something  busts. 
Time  passed,  nothing  busted.  The  County  was 
careening  westward.  There  was  no  stopping  it. 
Canaan  kept  her  head  high,  but  her  heart  grew 
as  cold  as  ice.  Then  the  paper  up  at  the  new  rail 
road  station  of  Shaleville  crudely  referred  to 
Canaan  as  "  that  benighted  hamlet."  It  was  too 
much.  When  Crittenton  Madeira  reached  Canaan 
from  St.  Louis,  the  first  thing  that  he  proposed 
for  the  city  of  his  adoption  was  the  Canaan  Short 
Line,  and,  coming  at  the  opportune  moment,  the 

consummation  of  that  proposition  placed  Madeira 
[37] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

at  the  head  of  Canaan's  municipal  life  for  the  rest 
f  of  his  days.  In  a  very  short  time  after  he  came  to 
Canaan,  Canaan  not  only  had  a  railroad,  but  her 
own  railroad.  Reassured,  bland,  she  caught  step 
with  progress,  by  and  by  saw  that  she  was  prog 
ress,  and  settled  back  into  her  old  superiority.  Her 
trade  prospered  anew,  the  cotton  came  to  her  depot, 
she  got  accustomed  to  the  noise  of  her  two  trains 
daily,  and  had  lived  through  many  contented  years 
when  the  twentieth  of  September  of  1899  opened 
up  like  a  rose,  fair,  fragrance-laden,  warm,  around 
her. 

Out  on  the  face  of  the  day  there  was  nothing  to 
suggest  change  or  crisis,  nothing  to  be  afraid  of, 
nothing  to  be  hopeful  for,  a  day  like  yesterday, 
like  to-morrow,  a  golden  link  in  a  golden  monotony. 
At  Court  House  Square,  a  few  farm-teams,  strap 
ping  mules  and  big  Studebakers,  stood  at  the  hitch 
ing  rail.  A  few  people  came  and  went  up  and 
down  and  across  the  Square.  Occasionally  a  mean- 
natured  man  said  "  huh-y !  "  to  a  cow  or  "  soo-y !  " 
to  a  hog  in  the  middle  of  Main  Street.  Some  coat- 
less  clerks,  with  great  elbow-deep  sleeve  protectors 

on  their  arms  and  large  lumps  of  cravats  at  their 
[38] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

throats,  lounged  in  store  doors.  The  most  con 
spicuous,  as  the  most  institutional,  feature  of  the 
landscape  was  the  group  idling  on  boxes  in  front 
of  the  old  Grange  store — just  as  they  had  idled  on 
boxes  before  the  war.  They  were  the  same  men, 
it  was  the  same  store,  and  it  was  not  inconceivable 
that  they  were  the  same  boxes.  As  the  men  idled 
they  spat,  somewhat  to  the  menace  of  the  passers- 
by,  though  in  defence  of  this  avocation  it  may  be 
argued  that  any  truly  agile  person,  by  watching 
carefully  and  seizing  opportunity  unhesitatingly, 
could  get  by  undefiled.  Sometimes  a  vehicle  rolled 
into  the  street  toward  the  Square,  and  when  this 
happened  it  was  amusement  to  the  men  to  say  whose 
vehicle  without  looking  up — jack-knives,  watch- 
fobs,  and  other  valuables  occasionally  changing 
hands  on  an  erring  guess  between  the  slow,  solemn 
trot  of  Mr.  Azariah's  Pringle's  Bess  and  the  duck- 
like  waddling  of  Mrs.  Molly  Jenkins'  Tom,  or  be- 
between  the  swinging  canter  of  Miss  Sally  Ma 
deira's  Kentucky  blacks  and  the  running  walk  of 
the  small-hoofed  Texas  ponies  from  We-all  Prairie. 
Once  a  great  waggon,  piled  high  with  cotton, 

creaked  by;  once  a  burnt-skinned  boy,  hard  as  a 
[39] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

nut,  shrieking  with  an  irrepressible  sense  of  being 
alive,  loped  past  on  a  mustang.  Once  a  small,  old 
man,  in  mean  clothes  and  with  a  fine  bearing, 
crossed  the  Square,  cracking  his  whip  nervously, 
his  spur  clicking  on  his  boot  as  he  walked.  Once 
a  large  florid  man  and  a  tall  girl  came  down  the 
street  and  entered  the  door  of  a  two-story  brick 
building  next  the  Grange.  The  man  had  an  ex 
pansive,  blustering  way.  The  girl  looked  as  though 
she  were  accustomed  to  admire  the  man  and  to 
badger  him;  her  face  was  turned  up  to  his  ador 
ingly,  while  her  fun-hunting  eyes,  just  sheathed 
under  her  lids,  gleamed  gaily.  The  building  had  a 
plate-glass  window  across  the  front  of  it,  and  on 
the  window,  in  gold  letters  bordered  in  black,  two 
legends  were  flung  to  the  public: 

BANK  OF  CANAAN 
CRITTENTON  MADEIRA 

When  the  man  and  the  girl  had  gone  into  the 
Bank  of  Canaan,  the  group  at  the  Grange  stopped 
gambling  on  the  incoming  teams  and  talked  less 
drowsily. 

"  Looks  like  that  girl  gets  purdier  and  purdier." 
[40] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

"  Mighty  pleasant  ways  she  keeps.  Never  gone 
back  on  her  raisin'.  Never  got  too  good  for  Miz- 
zourah." 

"  As  far  as  I  go,  I  like  her  ways  better'n  her 
pappy's  ways." 

"  Crit  is  a   little  toploftical." 

"  They  mighty  fond  of  each  other,  though. 
Seems  like  she's  not  in  a  hurry  to  marry  and  leave 
her  pappy." 

"  Wall  naow,  I  shouldn't  be  s'prised  ef  Miss 
Sally  never  did  git  married,  talkin'  abaout  mar- 
ryin'.  'Twould  not  s'prise  me  a-tall,  'twouldn't." 
Mr.  Quin  Beasley  was  talking.  Mr.  Beasley  was 
the  keeper  of  the  Grange  store  and  admittedly  a 
man  of  fine  conversational  powers.  His  jaws 
worked  on  and  he  seemed  able  to  get  nutriment  out 
of  his  ruminations  long  after  a  cow  would  have 
gone  back  to  grass  hungrily.  "  Aint  sayin'  I 
never  am  s'prised,  becuz  am,  but  do  say  that  that 
wouldn't  s'prise  me,  an'  no  more  would  it."  Mr. 
Beasley  brought  his  jaws  in  from  their  loose  me- 
anderings  just  as  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  be 
came  audible  down  the  side  street  that,  a  little  way 

along,  became  the  road  to  Poetical. 
[41] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Name  the  comer,  Beasley.  Up  to  the  sugar- 
tree  about  now.  Name-er,  name-er !  "  The  chal 
lenger  took  from  his  pocket  a  huge  horn  knife,  cov 
ered  it  with  his  hand  and  shook  it  in  the  face  of 
Mr.  Beasley,  who  responsively  got  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  knife,  which  he  held 
covered  after  the  manner  of  his  opponent. 

"  Unsight,  unseen,"  said  Mr.  Beasley.  "  It's 
Price  Mason's  pony." 

The  challenger  chuckled  deprecatingly  over  the 
carelessness  of  judgment  evinced:  "  Price  Mason's 
pony  comes  down  with  a  hippety-hop,"  he  re 
marked  pityingly — "  lemme  listen — it's — no,  taint, 
aint  f avorin'  his  right  front  foot — it's — wy  !  "  the 
challenger  suddenly  twisted  his  head  to  one  side 
and  held  it  there  like  a  lean-crawed  chicken  decid 
ing  where  to  peck.  Simultaneously  the  other  men 
glanced  down  the  side  street  where  it  came  into  the 
Square,  and  when  someone  said,  or  whistled,  "  Wy, 
who  the  h-e-double-1  is  it?  "  everybody  was  wait 
ing  for  an  answer. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  horseman  in 
question  galloped  straight  toward  the  group  and 

drew  rein  in  front  of  them  only  a  few  minutes  later. 
[42] 


THE    PROMISED    LAND 

He  was  a  big  fellow,  broad  and  lithe  of  shoulder 
and  chest,  and  young  and  alert  of  face. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  called  from  his  horse's  back, 
"  I  want  to  find  Mr.  Crittenton  Madeira.  Ah !  " 
he  laughed,  a  deep,  rich  note,  as  he  saw  the  gold 
and  black  sign,  "  gentlemen,  I  have  found  Mr. 
Madeira !  "  He  leaped  from  his  horse  and  began 
to  tether  him  to  a  staple,  set  in  the  pavement  in 
front  of  the  Grange. 

"  Yes,"  replied  a  member  of  the  Grange  group, 
all  of  whom  rose  sociably,  "  Crit  and  Miss  Sally," 
— the  young  man  laughed  again,  softly,  as  though 
he  could  not  help  it, — "  Crit  and  Miss  Sally  jes 
went  into  the  bank;  I  don't  reckin  they've  come 
out  again." 

"  Miss  Sally's  come  out  again,"  interposed  an 
other  Granger,  "  because  I  seen  her." 

"  It's  the  father  that  I  want  to  see,"  said  the 
horseman,  with  smiling  emphasis,  "  not  the  daugh 
ter,  not  Miss  Sally."  He  passed  through  the  bank 
door,  still  smiling,  and  the  Grange  group  looked 
at  each  other,  rife  with  speculation  on  the  in 
stant. 

"  Hadn't-a  said  not,  I'd-a  said  it  wuz  Miss  Sally 
[43] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

he  wanted  to  see.  Looks  to  me  like  he  might  be 
one  of  her  beaux.  Wears  sumpin  the  same 
clothes." 

"  Looked  like  a  Yank  to  me." 

"  Uh-hiih,  betchew  he  lets  his  biscuits  cool  be 
fore  he  butters  'em." 

"  Haven't  heard  Crit  say  he  was  looking  for  a 
stranger." 

"  Reckon  if  you  keep  up  with  Grit's  business, 
my  friend,  you'll  have  to  walk  faster." 

While  the  Grangers  were  wondering,  supposing, 
reckoning,  the  man  who  probably  let  his  biscuits 
cool  before  he  buttered  them  entered  the  Bank  of 
Canaan. 

When  the  cage  for  the  clerical  force  had  been 
put  into  the  Bank  of  Canaan,  there  was  not  a 
great  deal  of  the  bank  left,  so  the  man  stopped 
where  he  thought  he  was  least  apt  to  be  scraped, 
in  the  little  space  in  front  of  the  Force's  window. 
The  Force  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and,  with 
out  waiting  for  inquiry  or  request,  called  off  to 
the  rear  of  the  room. 

"  Mist'  Madeira !  He's  here !  Can  he  come  on 
in?  If  you'll  go  right  down  there  " — went  on  the 
[44] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

Force, — "to  that  door  in  front  of  you,  you  can  go 
through  it." 

The  thing  seemed  feasible,  as  the  door  was  half 
open,  so  the  visitor  attempted  it.  As  he  reached 
the  door,  however,  his  way  was  temporarily  blocked 
by  a  big  red-faced  man  who  held  out  both  hands  to 
him  and  took  possession  of  him  with  violent  • 
cordiality. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  Howdy,  howdy,  howdy !  " 
cried  the  big  man.  "  Been  looking  for  you  for  a 
week.  Only  last  night  I  told  Sally  that  I  wasn't 
going  to  look  for  you  any  longer.  Just  eternally 
gave  you  up.  How  in  the  Sam  Hill  have  you  taken 
so  long  to  get  here?  Come  on  in  and  have  a 
seat." 

As  he  talked,  the  Missourian  led  his  guest  in 
side  a  small  private  office,  handed  him  to  a  chair  and 
stood  up  before  him,  big,  colossal,  dominating  the 
younger  man,  or  at  least  meaning  to. 

"  I  am  very  rapidly  concluding  that  you  are 
Mr.  Madeira,  and  that  you  know  that  I  am  Steer 
ing,"  smiled  the  visitor,  sinking  into  a  chair  adapt- 
ably,  though  he  realised  that,  for  two  men  who  had 

never  seen  each  other  before,  the  meeting  had  been 
[45] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

unusual.  He  also  realised  that,  off  somewhere  in 
the  sphere  of  imponderable  influences,  the  effect 
when  his  hand  clasped  the  big  man's  hand  had  been 
exactly  that  of  the  clashing  of  two  swords. 

"  Oh,  God  love  you,  there's  no  black  magic  about 
my  knowing  you  for  Steering — only  stranger 
that's  been  expected  in  Canaan  for  six  weeks !  " 
cried  Madeira,  "  and  as  for  your  guessing  that  I'm 
Madeira,  you  don't  deserve  a  bit  of  credit  for  it. 
My  sign's  out."  His  manner  conveyed  that  his 
sign  was  quite  as  much  his  personality  as  the  black 
and  gold  letters  on  the  window.  "  Yes,  I'm  Ma 
deira,  and  you  are  Steering,  and  we  both  might  as 
well  own  up  to  it.  And  now  what's  kept  you  so 
long  on  the  road?  How'd  you  manage  to  put  in 
a  whole  week  between  here  and  Springfield  ?  "  Ma 
deira  seated  himself  in  a  swivel  chair  in  front  of  his 
desk  and  eyed  his  visitor  with  that  aggressive  geni 
ality,  that  tremendous  sense  of  himself,  warm  and 
vivid  in  his  face  and  manner.  And,  as  in  the  mo 
ment  when  he  had  faced  Missouri  from  the  top  of 
the  Tigmore  Hills,  Steering  had  a  feeling  that  he 
was  being  claimed,  absorbed. 

"  Why,  the  explanation  is  of  the  simplest.     At 
[46] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

the  very  last  minute,  there  at  Springfield,  too  late 
to  get  a  word  of  advice  out  to  you,  I  fell  in  with 
some  fellows  who  were  going  to  ride  across  country 
toward  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  and  I  joined  them. 
They  gave  out  at  Bessietown,  but  I've  come  every 
foot  of  the  way  over  the  Ridge  on  horseback,  and 
alone  at  that.  I  wanted  to  see  Missouri,  get  ac 
quainted  with  the  home  of  my  ancestors,  at  close 
range,  as  it  were." 

Madeira  chuckled.  "  God  bless  you,  you  cer 
tainly  went  in  at  the  back  door  to  do  it,"  he  said. 
Madeira's  God-bless-you's  and  God-love-you's  were 
valuable  crutches  to  his  conversation.  With  them 
and  his  bluster  he  seemed  able  to  cover  a  great  deal 
of  ground. 

"  And  then  I  didn't  hurry,"  went  on  Steering, 
"  because  I  thought,  from  what  you  wrote  me,  that 
it  would,  without  doubt,  be  some  weeks  before  that 
amiable  relative  of  mine  could  be  dragged  around 
to  any  real  attention  to  our  projects." 

"  Ah,  but  that's  where  you  missed  out !  "  cried 
Madeira,  a  great  ring  of  triumph  in  his  voice.  He 
crossed  his  legs,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 

pushed  out  his  chest.     "  That's  where  you  didn't 
[47] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

know  C.  Madeira.  Young  man,  I've  been  ham 
mering  at  Bruce  Grierson  night  and  day  ever  since 
I  got  you  interested  in  this  scheme," — Steering 
looked  at  Madeira  with  a  little  quick  motion  of  in 
quiry,  but  Madeira's  arrangement  of  subject  and 
object  was  evidently  advised;  Madeira  showed  that 
it  was  by  repeating,  "  ever  since  /  got  you  in 
terested,  I've  been  trying  to  get  Grierson  interested. 
We  couldn't  move  hand  or  foot  without  him,  you 
know  that.  The  land  is  his,  you  know,  even  though 
you  are  the  heir  apparent,  and  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  do  anything  with  the  land  without  him. 
I  had  got  you  into  it  without  much  trouble,"- 
Madeira  paused  just  long  enough  to  take  the  cigar 
that  Steering  offered  him.  (  Steering  could  always 
see  better  through  smoke.)  "  Yes,  I  had  got 
you !"  cried  Madeira,  biting  off  the  end  of  the  cigar 
with  a  sharp  snap  of  his  teeth,  "  and  having  got 
you,  the  next  thing  was  to  get  Grierson.  Well,  I 
got  him,  got  him  since  you  left  New  York."  He 
chuckled  his  spill-over  chuckle  again,  swung 
around  to  his  desk  and  took  from  one  of  its  pigeon 
holes  an  envelope  addressed  to  him  in  a  deep-goug 
ing  hand.  The  expression  of  geniality  lingered 
[48] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

about  the  wings  of  his  nose  and  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  as  though  it  had  been  moulded  there  by 
long  habit,  but  his  eyes  narrowed  and  the  play  of 
light  from  them  was  by  now  like  the  whisk  of  a 
sharp  knife  through  the  air.  "  You  know  I  chased 
that  old  fellow  all  over  Colorado  with  my  letters 
about  my  scheme  to  open  up  the  Tigmores,  until 
I  got  him  mad,"  he  said,  holding  the  letter  up  to 
say  it,  as  though  the  contents  would  be  illumined 
by  his  saying  it.  Then  he  handed  it  to  Steering, 
who  took  it  from  its  cover,  flapped  it  open,  and 
read: 

"DEAR  CHIT: 

"  Use  this  power  of  attorney  to  open  up  hell  if 
you  want  to,  but  don't  you  write  to  me. 
"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  B.  GRIERSON." 

It  was  the  sort  of  letter  to  make  a  man  laugh, 
and  Steering  laughed.  Then  the  phrase  "  open 
up  hell  "  caught  his  eye  again,  like  a  sign  of  sinis 
ter  warning. 

"  I've  never  been  able  to  understand,"  he  began 
with  a  questioning  inflection  in  his  voice,  "  what's 

the  trouble  with  the  scion  of  the  house  of  Grierson. 
[49] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

Why  is  he  so  indifferent  to  a  project  for  the  de 
velopment  of  his  property  that  may  mean  a  million 
to  him?" 

"  Aw,  you  know  he's  cracked !  "  replied  Madeira 
quickly  and  harshly. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him  at  all,  you  will  remember. 
Never  saw  him,  never  had  a  line  from  him." 

"  Well,  he's  cracked.  He  fooled  around  here  in 
the  Tigmores  for  twenty  years  hunting  silver,  God 
bless  you!  Spent  everything  he  had  riding  that 
hobby,  then  got  another  hunch,  for  zinc  this  time, 
borrowed  money,  sank  it,  borrowed  more,  sank  that, 
then  got  a  feeling  that  he  was  abused  and  went 
away  from  here  declaring  that  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores  could  slide  into  the  Di  before  he  would  ever 
raise  a  finger  to  stop  them.  That's  why  he 
wouldn't  write  you.  I've  handled  his  affairs — 
what's  left  of  them — for  years,  and  I've  had 
enough  trouble  handling  them,  let  me  tell  you." 
He  took  the  letter  from  Steering  and  replaced  it 
in  the  pigeon-hole.  "  But  I've  got  him  settled 
now,"  he  said,  "  and  we  can  go  right  on — oh !  for 
the  matter  of  going  on,  things  are  pretty  far  on 

already."      He    began    rummaging    through    his 
[50] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

desk  in  other  pigeon-holes.     "  I'll  just  show  you 
what  I've  drawn  up." 

Steering  found  himself  unable  to  keep  up  with 
Madeira.  He  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  con 
scious  of  a  sensation  that  he  was  being  jerked  along 
by  the  hair.  He  tried  to  get  the  best  of  the  sen 
sation  by  leaning  back  comfortably  in  his  chair 
and  observing  Madeira  leisurely.  He  tried  to  feel 
that  he  was  following  Madeira  voluntarily,  that 
he  didn't  have  to  if  he  didn't  want  to.  When  he 
had  quitted  New  York  he  had  been  sustained  by 
an  idea  that  he  had,  in  his  correspondence,  put  be 
fore  Madeira  a  plan  that  had  some  merit  and 
promise  in  it,  in  the  way  that  it  got  around  the 
terms  of  a  will,  under  which  he  was  heir  apparent 
to  a  vast  acreage  of  land  whose  title  now  rested  in 
another  man,  his  relative.  He  and  Carington  had 
worked  the  thing  over  conscientiously,  and,  there  in 
New  York,  they  had  taken  some  pride  in  the 
thought  that  they  had  hacked  out  a  good  base  for 
the  operations  of  a  potential  Steering-Grierson 
Mining  and  Development  Company.  Here,  in 
Missouri,  in  Madeira's  office,  before  the  on-roll  of 

Madeira's  manner,   Steering  was  no  longer  sure 
[51] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

that  he  and  Carington  had  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  case. 

"  Here's  my  prospectus,"  Madeira  was  saying, 
his  voice  ringing  triumphantly  again,  "  and  here 
are  the  articles.  God  bless  you,  we  are  right  up  to 
the  point  where  we  can  effect  the  organisation  and 
issue  the  first  one  hundred  thousand  shares  of  stock. 
There  are  some  Tigmore  County  men  that  I  want 
you  to  meet,  some  fellows  who  can  be  used  to  fill  out 
the  directorate,  and,  first  thing  you  know, 
we'll  be  filing  an  application  for  a  charter,  my 
boy." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Steering  absently.  He  had  the 
papers  in  his  hand,  and  was  running  them  over. 
Both  men  were  pulling  at  their  cigars  with  strong 
puffs,  and  the  room  was  so  vaporous  with  smoke 
that  Steering  was  beginning  to  see  very  clearly 
indeed,  as  he  went  through  the  papers.  They  were 
couched  in  good,  clear  English,  the  succinct  Eng 
lish  that  Carington  used,  with  admirable  changes 
here  and  there,  which  brought  out  Carington's 
points  still  more  clearly.  "  I  am  familiar  with 
these,"  said  Steering,  looking  up  presently.  "  You 

seem  to  have  let  it  stand  about  as  we  drafted  it  in 
[52] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

the   New  York   office.     What   changes   you   have 
made  I  like." 

"  Oh,  God  bless  you !  you  can  rely  upon  liking 
the  things  of  this  kind  that  I  do."  Madeira's  as 
sumption  was  comprehensive  and  bland.  There 
was  absolutely  no  sense  in  going  against  that  man 
ner  of  his  at  this  stage  of  developments.  Steering 
began  to  ask  questions  and  to  wait. 

"  Now,  according  to  what  we  set  forth  here," — 
Steering  tapped  the  paper, — "  the  object  and  pur 
pose  of  our  corporation  will  be  the  mining  of  zinc 
and  lead  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores.  We  are 
projecting  upon  the  hypothesis  that  there  is  ore 
in  the  Tigmores,  but  we  can't  go  too  far  upon 
hypothesis.  There  in  New  York  it  seemed  worth 
while  to  take  up  the  idea  that,  as  there  was  ore  all 
around  through  southwestern  Missouri,  there 
might  be  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores.  Then, 
being  equipped  for  theorising  only,  Carington  and 
I  passed  easily  into  the  consideration  of  the  possi 
bilities  if  there  were  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores. 
You  say  that  we  are  ready  to  organise,  but  it  looks 
to  me  just  now  as  though  before  we  organise  it 

might  be  in  order  to  solidify  hypothesis  into  fact. 
[53] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

I  don't  think  organisation  is  the  next  step  at  all; 
the  next  step,  according  to  my  notion,  is  to  get  off 
paper  into  the  ground.  Question  now  is,  is  there 
any  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores  ?  " 

"  Question  now  is,"  interrupted  Madeira  baldly, 
"  are  there  enough  fools  in  the  United  States  to 
donate  us  a  fortune  while  we  are  finding  out 
whether  there  is  or  isn't  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores  ?  Oh,  God  bless  you,  my  boy,  you  must  bear 
in  mind  that  gold  isn't  the  only  thing  that  can  be 
minted !  You  can  mint  a  man's  thirst  for  gold,  if 
you  are  up  to  it.  The  Southwest  is  zinc  crazy 
right  now.  The  time  is  as  ripe  as  a  nut 

"  Well,  one  minute — what's  your  private  opinion 
about  the  chance  for  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores, 
Mr.  Madeira?" 

"  I  d'n  know  a  thing  about  it.  And  God  bless 
you,  I  don't  care  a  thing  about  it.  I  know  that  old 
Bruce  Grierson  butted  his  brains  out  on  the  Tig- 
more  rocks,  on  the  jack-trail,  for  twenty  years,  and 
I  know,  that  all  over  the  country, — not  here  in 
Tigmore  County,  but  farther  southwest, — men  are 
drilling  into  rock  that  looks  rich,  and  cuts  blind, 
quick  enough  to  ruin  them ;  and  I  know  that  we 
[54] 


THE   PROMISED   LAND 

are  not  going  into  this  thing  to  lose  money,  but  to 
make  it,  coming  and  going ;  I  know  that  we've  got  to 
stand  to  win,  coming  and  going.  That's  business." 
Face  to  face  with  this  sort  of  frank  self-com 
mitment  to  "  business,"  Steering  was  impressed  into 
silence,  and  Madeira  took  advantage  of  the  silence 
to  push  on  in  the  big  way  he  had  that  was  like  the 
broad-paddling,  tooting  vehemence  of  a  river 
steamer.  "  I'm  for  getting  a  drill  into  the  hills 
right  away,  just  as  much  as  ever  you  can  be, 
my  boy,  understand.  It  will  look  better.  We'll 
do  it.  But  Lord  love  you,  we  won't  hold  back  the 
organisation  for  that.  Just  leave  these  things  to 
me.  I've  got  a  programme  arranged  here  that  will 
suit  you,  I  think.  First  thing  is  to  take  you 
around  and  let  you  see  that  document  in  the  re 
corder's  office, — I  believe  you  said  you  wanted 
to  read  the  Bruce  Peele  will, — then  you  can  come 
out  and  have  dinner  with  Sally  and  me.  I've  got 
a  nice  place  three  miles  out,  and  I've  got  a  daughter 
that  is  not  to  be  beat,  in  New  York  or  out  of  it. 
Then  this  evening  we'll  get  together  some  of  the 
fellows  that  I  handle  around  here,  and  take  up 
some  of  the  preliminary  business." 
[55] 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
Madeira  had  risen,  preparatory  to  conducting 
Steering  to  the  recorder's  -office  in  accord  with  the 
first  number  of  his  programme,  and  Steering  got 
up,  too.  While  Madeira  shut  up  his  desk,  Steering 
threw  away  the  stump  of  his  cigar  and  brought  his 
flexed  arms  back  to  his  shoulders  with  an  expansive 
pull  on  his  chest  that  sent  a  big  influx  of  air  into 
his  lungs.  After  his  seance  with  Madeira  he  felt 
as  though  he  had  been  pummelled  down  flat. 
Madeira  had  to  open  his  desk  again  for  something 
he  had  forgotten  and  Steering  passed  on  to  the 
door,  impatient  for  some  outside  air.  As  he  opened 
the  door,  with  his  eyes  rather  thoughtfully  fixed 
upon  the  floor,  he  saw,  peeping  around  the  curve 
where  the  Force's  cage  elbowed  its  way  out  into  the 
room,  a  foot.  Being  a  slender  foot,  in  a  well-fit 
ting  walking  boot,  it  held  him  an  unconscionably 
long  time,  then  drew  him  on  mandatorily,  up  the 
little  space  between  the  Force's  cage  and  the  wall, 
until  he  had  rounded  the  curve  and  had  come  out  by 
the  Force's  window,  where  a  bare-headed  girl 
leaned,  talking  merrily,  gouging  a  hat-pin  into  the 
hat  that  she  had  taken  off. 

"  Oh,  it's  Mr.  Steering,— isn't  it?  "  she  asked 
[56] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

at  once,  and  put  her  hand  out  to  him.  "  I  heard 
Father  say  that  he  was  expecting  you.  And  then, 
too,  a  friend  of  yours,  who  seemed  much  concerned 
about  your  fate  over  at  Poetical,  rode  to  our  house 
last  night  and  made  me  promise  to  welcome  you  to 
Canaan.  I  am  Sally  Madeira." 

"  Hi,  Pet,  you  there?  "  Madeira's  big  voice 
came  through  the  door  of  the  private  office  and 
took  possession  of  the  minute  and  the  girl — "  enter 
tain  the  New  Yorker  until  I  get  through  here,  will 
you?  I  got  to  monkey  with  this  blasted  lock 
again." 

"  Yes,  Father,  I'm  entertaining  him,"  Madeira's 
daughter  called  back,  while  Bruce  held  helplessly 
to  the  hand  she  had  given  him.  A  peculiar  misti 
ness  had  come  over  his  senses.  He  could  have  sworn 
that  through  it  he  saw  a  picture  that  had  been 
with  him  a  good  deal  during  the  past  year  of  his 
life,  a  picture  of  a  woman's  flower  face,  her  fluffi- 
ness, — as  of  silk  and  lace, — lose  colour,  outline, 
significance,  like  a  daguerreotype  in  the  sunlight. 
A  swift  joy  that  he  was  in  Canaan  possessed  him. 
All  he  could  say  was,  "  So  you  are  Miss  Sally  ?  " 

It  sounded  very  dull,  so  dull  that  he  hastened  to 
[57] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

add,  "  So  you  know  Piney? — Awfully  kind  of 
Piney  to  attract  your  attention  to  me."  Remem 
bering  with  horror  some  of  his  conversation  with 
Piney  about  Miss  Madeira,  he  repeated  solemnly, 
"  Awfully  kind." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  can  give  the  little  vagabond 
credit  for  a  kind  heart."  Miss  Madeira  laughed 
softly. 

"  I  give  him  credit  for  much  more  than  that," 
said  Bruce.  He  was  envying  Piney,  seeing  that 
the  tramp-boy's  intuitive  appreciations  matched 
his  vigorous  young  beauty,  that  he  was  far  more 
poet  than  vagabond,  that  he,  Bruce,  had  attempted 
to  play  clownishly  upon  what  was  a  worthy  and 
lovely  idyl  in  the  boy's  heart.  As  though  she,  too, 
had  some  faint,  perturbing  consciousness  of  Piney, 
the  girl  flushed  a  little,  laughed  a  little,  and  turned 
the  subject  readily. 

"  I  know  yet  another  friend  of  yours,"  said 
she. 

"I  am  glad  of  that."  Bruce  had  released  her 
hand,  forgotten  the  business  that  had  brought  him 
to  Missouri,  forgotten  Crittenton  Madeira,  and 

stood  with  his  arms  folded,  looking  down  upon  her, 
[58] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

glad  that  she  was  so  tall,  glad  that  he  was  taller, 
glad  about  everything. 

"  Yes,  another  friend,"  she  nodded  with  fleeting 
meaning,  "  I  was  at  Vassar  with  Elsie  Gossamer." 

Face  to  face  with  a  woman  like  Sally  Madeira 
the  thought  of  a  woman  like  Miss  Gossamer  must 
necessarily  stay  hazy  in  a  man's  brain.  As  with 
another  Romeo,  Rosaline  had  but  laid  the  velvet 
up  which  came  the  surer  feet  of  Juliet.  "  Well," 
said  Steering  happily,  "  all  this  is  going  to  make 
us  acquainted,  isn't  it?  " 

"  It  may,  if  you  like."  She  had  a  splendid 
comradeship  of  manner.  Her  father's  energy 
stopped  short  of  bluster  in  her.  Borne  up  on  her 
breezy  westernism  was  a  fragrant  reserve,  a  fine 
reticence  that  disengaged  a  tantalising  promise. 

"  Oh,  I'll  like ! "  cried  Bruce  with  conviction. 
"  Do  you  live  in  Canaan?  " 

"  Out  at  Madeira  Place.  Father  said  you 
were  to  come  out  to  dine  with  us  to-day.  I  hope 
you  will." 

"He  will,  he  will!  Trust  me  for  that!" 
Madeira  came  through  the  space  between  the  wall 
and  the  Force's  cage  noisily.  For  the  first  time 
[59] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

that  morning  Steering  felt  no  repugnance  to  that 
disposition  of  Madeira's  to  take  charge  of  him,  and 
he  went  off  with  Madeira,  a  moment  later,  across 
Court  House  Square  to  the  recorder's  office,  with 
tread  elastic  and  eyes  sparkling. 

When  the  two  men  had  left  her,  the  girl  moved 
over  to  the  plate-glass  window  and  watched  Steer 
ing,  a  little  smile  on  her  lips,  an  adequate  enjoy 
ment  of  his  undoing  dancing  mercilessly  in  her  long 
amber-hued  eyes. 

Steering  stopped  behind  Madeira  at  the  door  of 
the  recorder's  office  and,  looking  back  at  the  plate- 
glass  window  unexpectedly,  saw  the  girl's  eyes  fixed 
demurely  on  the  floor  where  her  boot  showed  under 
the  hem  of  her  long  straight  gown.  It  was  a  very 
little  moment  that  they  stood  thus,  he  with  his  eyes 
on  her,  she  with  her  eyes  on  her  boot,  but  it  was  an 
electric  moment.  With  him  it  was  a  cycle  of  self- 
abuse  for  the  unadvised  rot  that  he  had  talked  to 
Piney,  an  era  of  gratitude  to  Piney  for  being  the 
sort  who  would  not  report  any  of  it  to  Miss 
Madeira.  (Even  so  little  did  Steering  understand 
that  a  boy  like  Piney  would  necessarily  have  to  tell 
a  woman  like  Miss  Madeira  about  all  that  he  knew ; 
[60] 


THE    PROMISED   LAND 

tell  it  exuberantly,  bubblingly,  without  ever  being 
quite  conscious  that  he  was  telling  anything.) 
Steering  followed  Madeira  inside  the  recorder's 
office  slowly,  and  the  girl  went  on  standing  at  the 
plate-glass  window,  studying  her  foot. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  she  began  calling  to  him 
soundlessly,  and  broke  off  abruptly  and  stood  there 
at  the  window  for  a  time,  motionless  and  thought 
ful.  She  was  a  tall  girl,  of  a  broad-shouldered, 
athletic  type,  a  college  girl  by  the  sign  of  the 
austere  cut  of  her  gown,  but  a  western  girl  by  the 
sign  of  the  flying  ends  of  the  scarf  about  her 
throat,  the  unafraid  looseness  of  her  bright  hair. 
Her  face,  lit  by  her  amber  eyes  and  crowned  by 
those  loose  masses  of  hair,  had  a  rare,  dusky-gold 
beauty.  Despite  her  hair  she  was  dark-skinned, 
smooth  and  warm  like  bisque,  and  that  same  gold- 
dusted  radiance  that  was  in  her  hair  and  that  same 
amber-gold  light  that  was  in  her  eyes  glowed  inef 
fably  from  beneath  her  skin.  She  was  a  pulse  of 
light,  colourful  and  vibrant.  "  Yes,  indeed,  sir," 
she  resumed  after  a  while,  jabbing  the  hat-pin  into 
the  hat  relentlessly,  "  this  is  what  a  Missouri  girl  is 
like!" 

[61] 


Chapter  Four 

FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 

MY  DEAR  CARRY: 
I  should  have  written  you  sooner, 
save  that  the  developments  here  have 
given  me  so  little  that  is  pleasant  to  write  about. 
My  experience  with  Grierson's  agent  has  been  too 
exasperating  for  description,  and  I  should  have 
given  up  and  have  got  out  at  once  had  it  not  been 
for  the  Missouri  in  me,  and  had  I  not  got  a  feeling 
of  encouragement  from  other  experiences. 

To  begin  with:  When  I  reached  Missouri,  I  lit 
out  for  the  southwestern  part  of  the  State  by  train. 
At  Springfield  I  fell  in  with  some  English  fellows 
who  are  over  at  Joplin  in  the  interests  of  a  Welsh 
company.  They  had  an  expedition  all  planned  to 
take  in  some  of  the  Southwest  by  team  on  their  way 
back  to  Joplin,  and  as  they  were  going  to  push 
down  pretty  close  to  my  objective  point,  I  joined 
the  expedition.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  en 
thusiasm  among  us  about  zinc, — jack  they  call  it 
[62] 


FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 

down  here, — and  the  talk  at  first  was  all  of  the 
stupidity  of  Missourians  in  not  getting  at  this 
part  of  their  State,  as  well  as  the  section  about 
Joplin,  in  the  search  for  ore.  I  noticed  that  as  we 
got  into  the  rough-going  of  the  ridge  roads,  and 
the  hills  got  steeper  and  the  woods  denser  and  the 
rocks  thicker,  the  opinion  seemed  to  grow  upon  us 
that  Missourians  might  understand  their  country 
better  than  we  did.  We  had  a  driver  who  knew 
the  roads  well,  when  he  could  find  them.  We  had  a 
geological  expert  who  got  sadder  and  sadder  every 
time  we  spilled  out  of  the  waggons  and  speared 
around  in  the  rocks  for  a  little  while.  And  we  had 
a  great  deal  of  bacon.  Still,  when  we  reached 
Bessietown,  where  we  struck  the  steam-cars,  the 
Joplin  crowd  broke  for  the  train  on  a  run.  From 
Bessie  there  was  a  straight  trail  over  the  Ridge  to 
Canaan  and  I  decided  to  make  the  trip  on  horse 
back.  I  had  got  stubborn. 

Well,  by  and  by,  and  more  and  more  full  of 
bacon,  I  was  at  Canaan,  and  had  found  Crittenton 
Madeira,  that  agent  with  whom  we  had  the  corre 
spondence.  I  walked  in  upon  Madeira  with  a 

pretty  little  notion  that  you  and  I  had  had  some- 
[63] 


SALLY     OF     MISSOURI 

thing  to  do  with  the  projection  of  a  plan  for 
developing  and  mining  the  Tigmores ;  I  could  have 
sworn  that  we  originated  the  idea  of  hypothecating 
my  heirship  to  the  Canaan  Tigmores ;  I  remembered 
that  in  New  York  the  fact  that  I  would  inherit 
from  Grierson  seemed  to  make  my  association  with 
any  enterprise  for  the  development  of  the  Tigmores 
of  vital  importance.  I  had  not  forgotten  that  that 
was  our  argument,  and  I  was  nursing  a  feeling  that 
I  was  fairly  necessary  to  any  permanency  of  opera 
tions  in  the  Tigmores.  I  am  all  straightened  out 
on  that  score  now,  thanks  to  Madeira.  The  situa 
tion  that  I  find  here  is  this:  Madeira  has  calmly 
taken  over  our  ideas,  and  his  plans  of  organisation 
are  about  complete.  He  is  qualified  to  act  for 
Grierson  absolutely.  The  company  that  he  will 
organise  is  to  be  known  as  The  Canaan  Mining 
and  Development  Company.  He  appreciates 
stingily  that  it  may  be  some  advantage  to  have  me 
associated  with  the  company,  for  the  purpose  of 
imparting  a  feeling  of  confidence  to  investors,  but 
he  does  not  begin  to  attach  the  importance  to  me 
that  you  and  I  did.  He  will  let  me  in  if  I  want 
to  come  in,  but  it  is  quite  evident  that  he  can  get 
[64] 


FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 
along  without  me,  and  yet  more  evident  that  if  he 
takes  me  in,  I  must  resign  myself  to  his  dictation, — 
dictating  is  his  strong  suit.  To  the  gentleman 
who  expected  to  be  the  president  of  the  Steering- 
Grierson  Company,  that  is  not  a  pleasant  pro 
gramme;  yet,  my  dear  Carington,  my  circum 
stances  are  so  precarious  that  I  might  attempt  to 
fill  it,  if  I  did  not  see  through  Madeira's  lack  of 
principle,  negatively  speaking, — rascality,  pos 
itively  speaking.  Now,  I  may  have  winked  one 
eye  occasionally  during  my  business  career,  but  I 
have  never  yet  been  able  to  shut  both  at  once.  It 
may  be  taste  and  it  may  be  morals.  Here 
tofore  I  have  taken  business  too  casually  really 
to  know  how  I  am  equipped  for  it.  I 
have  never  before  really  met  myself,  spoken  to 
myself,  as  I  hustled  through  the  few  commercial 
hours  of  each  day  of  my  life.  But  out  here  busi 
ness  has  become  a  thing  of  wider  import  on  the 
instant,  and  already  I  am  face  to  face  with  some 
thing  stiff  and  hard  on  the  inside  of  me  that 
promises  not  to  be  very  malleable  under  Madeira's 
hands.  Madeira's  hands,  my  dear  boy,  are  pot- 
black.  The  plan  that  with  us  was  a  fair  and  square 
[65] 


SALLY     OF     MISSOURI 

enterprise  has  become  with  him  a  clap-trap  scheme 
to  rob  investors.  I  don't  know  how  he  means  to  do 
it,  but  he  will  do  it.  There  is  a  chance  that  the 
company  may  get  good  money  out  of  the  Canaan 
Tigmores  in  zinc,  but  there  is  a  much  richer  chance 
that  Madeira  will  get  good  money  out  of  the  com 
pany,  zinc  or  no  zinc. 

So  here  I  am  in  a  pleasant  situation.  I  can  take 
my  choice  between  a  block  of  shares  in  the  new 
company,  my  vote  to  be  in  Madeira's  control,  and  a 
place  far  back,  where  I  can  watch  Madeira  operate 
my  land  to  his  profit  while  I  wait  for  old  Grierson 
to  die.  I  am  holding  off  as  yet,  dazzled  by  both 
prospects.  Meantime  the  organisation  of  Ma 
deira's  company  is  being  effected  among  the  local 
capitalists,  the  store-keepers  and  the  substantial 
farmers,  and  it's  only  a  question  of  a  few  days 
until  the  directorate  shuts  in  my  face.  Madeira  is 
to  take  me  over  to  Joplin  to-morrow, — to  let  the 
showing  there  have  its  effect  upon  me,  to  let  me 
catch  the  ore  fever,  I  suspect. 

Immediately  upon  my  arrival  here,  I  looked  into 
the  history  of  my  relationship  to  Grierson,  and  also 

looked  up  the  record  of  the  Peele  will.     Grierson  is 
[66] 


FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 

the  grandson  of  one  of  the  sisters  of  old  Bruce 
Peele,  while  I  am  the  great-great-grandson  of 
another  sister.  My  great-grandfather  did  not 
like  pioneer  life  and  went  back  East  to  live  and 
cultivate  the  Steering  family-tree  into  me,  as  the 
last,  topmast,  splendid  blossom.  The  Grierson 
family  stayed  in  Missouri  and  petered  out  into  this 
Bruce  Grierson.  He  is  of  my  grandfather's 
generation,  though  he  is  a  much  younger  man  than 


a  grandfather  of  mine  could  possibly  be  with  the 
record  of  my  age  and  my  father's  age  to  be  ac 
counted  for. 

I  got  profoundly  excited  in  studying  out  the 
two  branches  of  the  family  that  are  involved  in  the 
entail.  Here  is  a  map  of  the  relationship  for 

your  benefit. 

[67] 


SALLY     OF     MISSOURI 

You  can  understand  from  that,  can't  you, 
Carington  ?  * 

The  Peele  will  is  simple.  Old  Bruce  Peele  lived 
a  long  life  as  a  bachelor,  with  a  strong  aversion  to 
matrimony.  Toward  the  end  he  suffered  one  of 
those  revolutions  in  valuations  that  sometimes  up 
turn  people  of  extreme  prejudices.  His  will  sets 
forth  emphatically  that  he  came  tardily  to  realise 
that  posterity  is  the  best  thing  a  man  can  leave 
behind  him.  He  had  two  sisters,  both  of  whom 
were  well  along  in  life,  unmarried,  and  possessed  of 
their  brother's  disinclination  to  marry.  To  en 
courage  them  to  cross  the  Rubicon  he  made  the  will 
that  entailed  the  Canaan  Tigmores  to  the  heirs, 
first  of  one  and  then  the  other,  under  the  following 
provisions :  the  land  was  to  go  to  the  male  heirs  of 
his  sister  Nancy  Peele,  from  oldest  son  to  oldest  son 
so  long  as  there  were  male  heirs,  provided  that  in 
each  generation  the  oldest  male  representative  of 
Nancy  married  before  he  reached  the  age  of  thirty- 
five.  If,  in  any  generation,  Nancy's  representative 
fails  to  marry  at  thirty-five,  the  Canaan  Tigmores 
pass  to  the  male  representative  of  Kate  Peele,  upon 

*  Carington  could  not. 
[68] 


FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 

the  death  of  the  man  who  failed.  Nancy  Peele 
married  a  Grierson,  and  so  pronounced  was  the  in 
herited  aversion  to  matrimony  in  the  house  of  Grier 
son  that  compliance  with  the  terms  of  the  will  has 
lasted  through  two  generations  only.  The  present 
Bruce  Grierson  let  the  time-limit  overtake  and  pass 
him  twenty  years  ago,  but,  unmarried  and  grouchy, 
he  has  stood  between  me  and  the  Canaan  Tigmores 
ever  since.  I  don't  count  until  he  dies,  and  not 
then  unless  I  am  married  before  I  am  thirty-five. 
(However,  I  feel  that  I  might  be  more  disposed  to 
meet  the  will's  requirements  than  the  Griersons 
have  been.) 

The  present  Grierson  is  utterly  unapproachable. 
He  has  not  lived  in  this  section  for  many  years. 
He  is  particularly  unapproachable  on  the  subject 
of  the  Canaan  Tigmores  because  he  spent  a  great 
part  of  his  youth  prospecting  through  these  hills, 
hoping  and  being  disappointed.  At  last  he  turned 
his  back  upon  Canaan,  bitterly  disillusioned,  and  he 
has  been  a  wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  ever 
since,  sometimes  hunting  gold  in  the  Rockies,  some 
times  after  silver  in  Mexico.  Half  the  time  even 

Madeira  does  not  know  where  he  is. 
[69] 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
The  queerest  thing  about  the  mining  business, 
Carington,  is  the  "  hunches."  The  Englishmen 
told  me  that  down  at  Joplin  a  man  would  rather 
have  a  dream  that  he  walks  two  miles  sou'-sou- 
west,  turns  around  three  times  on  his  heels  and  finds 
ore  under  his  left  heel,  than  to  have  a  geologist 
assure  him  that  his  house  sits  on  a  ledge  of  Chero 
kee  limestone  that  ought  to  be  all  right  for  zinc. 
I  have  met  great  numbers  of  miners  who  are  hun- 
chers.  The  most  interesting  is  a  man  named 
Bernique,  an  old  chap  of  education  and  refinement 
from  St.  Louis.  He  has  a  hunch  about  the 
Canaan  Tigmores — at  least  so  far  in  my  inter 
course  with  him  I  have  not  found  anything  more 
tangible  than  a  hunch.  I  fell  in  with  him  just 
before  I  reached  Canaan,  and  though  he  then  de 
clared  his  intention  of  being  absent  for  some  days, 
he  did  not  go  away,  sought  me  out  in  Canaan  next 
day  and  has  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  with  me 
ever  since.  He  is  a  splendid  old  character. 
Missouri  is  chuck  full  of  character,  for  the  matter 
of  that.  Besides  old  Bernique,  I  have  made  another 
friend,  named  Piney.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  nice 

name?     He  is  a  sort  of  gipsy  lad  who  roams  the 
[70] 


FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  CARINGTON 

woods  in  company  with  old  Bernique.  I  have  seen 
him  nearly  every  day  since  I  have  been  here,  because 
old  Bernique  and  I  ride  about  the  Tigmores,  and 
Piney  is  sure  to  fall  in  with  us  somewhere  along  the 
road.  I  have  also  met  some  others. 

You  can  have  no  conception,  Carry,  of  the 
strength  of  pull  that  Missouri  can  exert  over  a 
fellow.  You  stand  up  on  a  hill  and  look  at  her, 
and  something,  your  dead  forefathers  maybe,  comes 
up  to  you  in  waves  of  influence.  "  Come  back  to 
your  own !  "  says  the  Something,  "  I  am  waiting 
for  you !  By  me  conquer !  "  The  longer  I  stay  in 
Missouri,  the  longer  I  mean  to  stay.  I  have 
accepted  the  challenge  of  this  great  unconquered, 
waiting  land.  It  is  my  own  country. 

Sorry  to  have  kept  you  so  long  over  all  this, 
but  I  thought  that  you  ought  to  know.  Shall 
write  you  the  out-look  after  the  Joplin  trip.  I 
have  a  notion  that  things  will  be  adjusted  toward 
the  future  after  that. 

Give  my  love  to  the  fellows. 

Yours,  B.  S. 

P.  S.  Please  express  me  one  of  those  fold-up, 
carry-around-with-you  bath-tubs. 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
When  Carington,  in  the  office  down  on  Nassau 
Street,  had  read  that,  all  of  it,  he  turned  over  the 
last  sheet  and  looked  blankly  at  its  blankness, 
quoted  from  the  first  paragraph,  "  Had  I  not  got 
a  feeling  of  encouragement  from  other  experi 
ences  " ;  reread  the  entire  letter,  and  was  still 
afflicted  with  a  sense  of  something  lacking. 

"  Now  where  the  dickens  did  he  get  the  encour 
agement?  "  cried  Carington  fretfully.  "Psha! 
he  has  not  put  that  in  at  all !  " 

As  a  matter  of  entity  and  quiddity,  it  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  put  into  a  letter  the  little  quiver 
ing  lift  of  spirit  that  may  come  to  a  man  just 
because  a  girl's  hair  is  lustrous,  her  eyes  winey,  her 
voice  delicious,  her  smile  one  of  gay  fellowship. 


Chapter  Five 

BOOM    TIME    IN    THE    TOWN    THAT    JACK    BUILT 

I~W"  ERE  we  are !     This  is  the  town  that 
1    jack  built,  this  is  the  town  the  poet 
wrote    about ! "      Madeira    was    lean 
ing  forward  from  the  rear  seat  of  a  high  road- 
cart  to  talk  to  Steering,  who  sat  on  the  front  seat 
beside  the  driver.     Madeira  had  the  back  seat  by 
himself,    but,    leaning    forward,    with    both    arms 
spraddled  out  behind  Steering  and  the  driver,  he 
seemed  now  and  then  to  take  possession  of  the 
front  seat,  too. 

"  Yes ! "  cried  the  driver,  who,  fearless,  con 
fident,  glowing,  was  managing  her  spirited  horses 
skilfully,  "  at  Joplin's  gates,  you  must  chant  the 
classic, '  Hey  this,  what's  this?  '  " 

"  And  up  from  the  city  rolls  the  triumphant 
answer,  '  This  is  the  town  that  jack  built! '  "  de 
claimed  Steering,  glancing  down  into  the  driver's 
face  with  accordant  appreciation.  He  felt  ac 
cordant  and  he  felt  appreciative.  He  had  enjoyed 
[73] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

the  little  railway  journey  from  Canaan  in  company 
with  the  Madeiras.  He  had  enjoyed  the  night 
before,  which  he  had  spent  at  the  house  of  a  Joplin 
friend  of  the  Madeiras.  He  was  enjoying  the  ride 
now.  The  friend  of  the  Madeiras  had  put  good 
horses  at  Madeira's  disposal  and  Miss  Sally  Ma 
deira  could  get  speed  out  of  good  horses  as  easily 
as  other  women  get  a  purr  out  of  a  kitten.  Even 
Madeira,  just  behind  him,  crowding  forward  upon 
him,  did  not  very  much  bother  Steering.  It  was 
all  enjoyable. 

They  were  on  a  long  wide  street  that  presented 
violently  contrasted  activities,  hard  to  encompass 
with  one  pair  of  eyes.  For  blocks  the  buildings 
lined  off  on  either  side,  low,  flimsy  and  hastily  con 
structed — mining-camp  architecture,  that  gave  way 
at  abrupt  intervals  to  tall  and  sightly  brick-and- 
stone  structures,  built  for  the  future  metropolis 
rather  than  for  the  present  camp.  A  section  of  an 
electric  railway  that  was  thirty-two  miles  long  ran 
through  the  street,  and  the  handsomely  equipped 
cars  on  it  clipped  past  mud-encrusted  mule  teams 
from  distant  hill  farms,  prairie  schooners,  and  di 
lapidated  carryalls.  The  scene  was  tremendously, 


THE    TOWN   THAT   JACK   BUILT 

occidentally  irregular,  setting  forth  that  merciless 
clutch  of  the  future  upon  the  past  that  makes  the 
present  mere  transition.  The  town  was  hard  pushed 
to  catch  up  with  its  own  vast  possibilities.  A 
small  place,  set  suddenly  forward  as  one  of  the 
world's  great  ore  markets,  it  could  not  even  house 
the  mining  business  that  had  poured  in  upon  it,  and 
that  made  of  its  main  thoroughfare  a  tossing, 
turbulent  stream  of  people.  Almost  every  build 
ing  that  Steering  saw  was  crowded  to  the  doors 
with  mining  brokers'  desks,  mining  brokers'  desks 
spilled  out  on  the  side- walk,  desks  could  be  seen  at 
the  doors  of  the  retail  stores  and  desks  kept  bank 
ing-house  doors  from  shutting.  The  windows  of 
the  newspaper  offices  and  of  the  mineral  companies 
were  crowded  with  displays  of  ore.  The  hub-bub 
about  these  places  was  fierce,  unbearable.  Young 
men,  with  their  handkerchiefs  in  their  collars, 
hurried  from  one  office  to  another,  warm  with 
excitement,  flapping  great  bunches  of  letters  and 
memoranda  in  their  hands  as  they  hurried.  Messen 
ger  boys  ran  up  and  down  the  streets  with  tele 
grams.  Buyers  from  the  Kansas  smelters,  smelters 

in  Illinois,  smelters  up  about  St.  Louis,  smelters  in 
[75] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

Indiana,  smelters  in  Wales,  nosed  around  like  fer 
rets.  Fine  young  men,  who  were  supposed  to  look 
after  the  interests  of  the  big  foreign  companies, 
sauntered  out  of  bar-rooms,  doing  violence  to  the 
supposition.  Map-sellers  whacked  their  hands  with 
folders.  Wooden  booths  flung  signs  to  the  streets 
bigger  than  the  booths  themselves :  "  Mineral  Com 
panies  Promoted,"  "  Mining  and  Smelting," 
"  Mines,  Options,  Leases," — there  was  no  end  to  the 
variations  of  the  eternal  theme  of  mining.  Town 
lots,  switches  of  flats,  and  hill  ridges  were  being 
swapped  and  sold  and  leased  from  the  curb-stone ; 
leases  were  being  made  from  buggies  and  options 
were  being  granted  from  a  horse's  back. 

"  Whewee !  "  marvelled  Steering,  with  a  little  itch 
of  fear  for  the  ore-mad  people,  "  legal  forms  are 
being  put  to  fearful  strains,  are  they  not,  with  all 
this  heedless  buying  and  selling  ?  " 

Madeira  laughed  loudly,  "  God  bless  you,  legal 
forms !  All  that  a  man  who  wants  to  sell  has  to  do 
is  to  throw  a  plank,  any  little  rotten  plank,  across 
the  chasm  of  future  litigation  and  ten  buyers  will 
walk  it  with  nerves  of  steel."  He  patted  Steer- 
ing's  shoulder.  "  My  boy,  it's  this  headlong  im- 
[76] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
petus  that  assures  the  success  of  the  Canaan  Com 
pany.  If  I  get  that  thing  started  once,  all  I  have 
to  do  is  to  advertise  it  down  here  a  week.  The 
stock  will  go  like  hot-cakes.  People  don't  care 
what  they  buy,  just  so  they  buy.  They've  got  no 
sense  of  value  left.  Why,  a  man  found  an  out 
crop  of  a  zinc  lode  under  his  chicken-coop  yester 
day — and  to-day  the  price  of  chicken-coops  has 
gone  up."  Madeira  patted  Steering's  shoulder 
again  and  laughed  again,  pleased  at  his  aptness  in 
figuring  the  thing  out. 

"  He's  just  exactly  right,"  said  the  girl,  nodding 
at  Steering.  "  Over  here  the  average  man  needs 
a  guardian  to  keep  him  out  of  the  clutches  of  the 
'  boodlers.'  I  almost  hate  to  see  this  sort  of  ex 
citement  come  into  Canaan.  Father  has  been 
pretty  busy  all  his  life  looking  after  infant  men, 
but  from  now  on  his  plight  is  going  to  be  pitiable. 
I  saw  that  yesterday  afternoon,  Dad,  when  the 
farmers  were  filing  into  the  bank  to  put  their  money 
into  your  hands."  The  girl,  turning  back  to  smile 
at  Madeira,  was  the  cause  of  Steering's  turning 
back,  too,  and  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  patriarchal, 

benign  expression  on  Madeira's  face,  as  though  a 
[77] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

reflection   of  the   girl's   illusions   about   his   char 
acter  lay  warm  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  my  job  as  nurse  for  the 
Canaanites,  Pet,"  said  Madeira  softly,  and  then 
waved  one  hand  out  toward  the  city  and  changed 
the  subject.  "  Pretty  good  for  a  lazy  semi- 
southern  State,  eh,  Steering?  "  He  nudged  the  girl 
next  and  added :  "  Before  we  are  through  with  him 
we'll  have  convinced  the  New  Yorker  that  a  good 
deal  happens  outside  New  York.  Won't  we, 
Pet?" 

"  Yes,  sirree,"  said  the  girl,  imitating  her 
father's  manner  adroitly,  as  she  put  her  horses 
through  the  crowded  thoroughfare,  "  the  United 
States  of  America  has  more  than  one  way  of  living 
the  life  strenuous,  and  Broadway,  New  York, 
doesn't  begin  to  be  the  only  place  where  she  lives  it. 
Look  abroad,  look  abroad !  "  She  was  altogether 
fascinating  as  she  pointed  out  to  Steering  little 
typical  features  that  he  would  have  missed  without 
her  humourous,  boastful  sallies. 

As  they  continued  on  their  way,  Madeira  and  the 
girl  bowed  and  smiled  to  acquaintances,  and  once 

the  horses  were  stopped  at  the  curb  to  enable  Ma- 
[78] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
deira  to  talk  to  some  man  whom  he  knew  well. 
While  waiting,  with  the  road-cart  drawn  up  close  to 
the  curb,  Steering  and  the  girl  could  hear  talk  all 
about  them, — zinc  and  lead,  jack,  jack,  jack! 
Flying  chips  of  conversation  assailed  their  ears  as 
the  people  scurried  by ;  references  to  old  companies 
and  their  latest  projects,  and  to  new  companies  and 
new  finds ;  talk  about  the  menace  of  the  runs  pinch 
ing  out,  and  talk  about  the  danger  of  over-stocking 
the  world's  zinc  markets ;  grumbling  talk  about  the 
wildcat  exploitation  going  on  at  every  corner,  and 
envious  talk  about  a  report  that  some  wildcat 
promoter  had  just  succeeded  in  selling  a  face  of 
ore  that  had  cut  blind  under  the  drill  of  the  buyer 
in  a  few  lamentable  days ;  condemnatory  talk  about 
what  an  extremely  gold-brick  country  this  was,  and 
awed  talk  about  the  remarkable  prices  that  some 
of  the  gold  bricks  fetched.  All  the  talk  was 
frankly  of  millions.  The  scale  was  gigantic. 
Even  poor  men  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  familiar 
ity  with  the  sound  of  great  sums  that  made  them 
take  themselves  as  somehow  richer  and  bigger. 
Voices  shook  with  eagerness  and  avidity ;  hands 

worked  constantly  at  button-holes,  or  at  lapels,  or 
[79] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

with  watch-guards.  When  acquaintances  passed 
on  the  street  they  did  not  say  "  how-do-you-do" ; 
they  looked  at  each  other's  bulging  pockets  and 
said,  "  lemme  see  your  rock."  What  Steering  and 
the  girl  heard  as  they  waited  in  the  road-cart  was 
fragmentary  but  significant:  "  Scotch  Company 
will  divide  off  another  one  hundred  thousand  acres, 
so  they  say — No,  sirree-bob,  no  more  hand- jigging 
for  me — Wouldn't  take  one-quarter  of  a  million  for 
it,  if  you'd  give  it  to  me — Boston  Company  is 
bound  to  make  millions — Yes,  that's  Madeira, — 
Canaan  Tigmores — Oh,  he  will  mint  money  out  of 
it,  no  doubt  in  the  world  about  that  he  goes  in 

to  win " 

The  girl  turned  to  Steering  with  pleased  pride. 
"You  see?  He  always  wins.  People  expect  him 
to."  Madeira  was  over  at  the  edge  of  his  seat, 
talking  earnestly  to  the  man  on  the  curb.  Steer 
ing,  beside  the  girl,  looking  down  at  her,  not  seeing 
Madeira  because  of  her,  nodded  approvingly,  the 
approval  being  for  her  honesty,  her  sweetness,  her 
vitality.  Something,  perhaps  the  near  climax  for 
her  father's  enterprise  at  Canaan,  seemed  to  have 
keyed  her  to  a  high  pitch.  Steering,  who  by  now 
[80] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
had  had  opportunities  to  see  her  often,  had  never 
seen  her  so  beautiful,  nor  so  quick  of  expression  in 
word  and  look.  Her  voice  thrilled  him ;  and  while 
he  was  thrilling,  Madeira's  voice  came  on  to  him: 
"  You  needn't  hold  back  on  that  account,"  Ma 
deira  was  saying :  "  God  bless  you,  I've  got  the 
next  heir  in  the  deal,  too." 

"  Oh-ho,"  said  the  girl,  who  also  heard,  "  we  are 
taking  you  for  granted,  aren't  we?  "  Steering  only 
smiled  at  her  again.  He  had  fallen  into  the  habit 
of  smiling  at  her,  and  some  prescience  seemed  to 
urge  him  to  exercise  the  habit  while  he  could. 

Madeira  was  turning  from  the  man  on  the  curb : 
"  All  right,  I'll  allot  you  one  thousand  shares,  eh? 
Good-day. — Pet,  you'd  better  drive  on  out  to  Chit- 
wood,  lickety-split." 

Miss  Madeira  put  the  whip  to  her  horses,  and 
they  left  the  Joplin  streets  behind  them,  and  sped 
out  a  gritty  white  road  that  crossed  a  lean  sweep  of 
prairie.  Ahead  of  them  Steering  could  see  pres 
ently  a  sort  of  settlement ;  wooden  sheds,  wide  and 
low;  hoister  shafts,  tall  and  slim,  on  stilts;  scaf 
folding  ;  pipes ;  chimneys ;  tramways ;  surface  rail 
ways.  His  eyes  leaped  from  moundlike  piles  of 
[81] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

tailings,  the  powdery  crush  spit  out  by  the  con 
centrating  mills,  to  boulder-like  heaps  of  rocks  that 
had  been  wheeled  away  to  save  the  teeth  of  the 
mills,  and  his  ears  turned  distraught  from  the 
groaning  clank  of  unwieldy  iron  tubs,  swinging  up 
through  skeleton  shafts,  to  the  sputtering  plunk- 
plunk  of  drill  engines  and  the  booming  roar  of 
machinery. 

"  Hard  to  keep  up  with,  eh?  God  bless  us,  it 
certainly  is  hard  to  keep  up  with !  "  cried  Madeira. 
"  Drive  into  the  enclosure  there  at  the  Howdy-do, 
Pet,  Throcker  will  be  expecting  us.  I  telephoned 
him.  Yes,  sir,  this  is  the  place  to  see  what  zinc 
means."  Madeira  was  leaning  forward  again,  one 
arm  about  his  daughter  and  the  other  arm  father 
ing  Steering.  "  This  is  the  place  to  understand 
what  can  be  done  by  seeing  what  has  been  done." 
He  seemed  to  want  to  fire  Steering  with  the  idea 
that  just  such  another  astounding  development 
could  be  wrought  out  down  there  in  the  Canaan 
Tigmores,  and  though  Steering  was  aware  that  he 
would  soon  be  at  a  crisis  where  he  would  need  an 
austere  strength  of  judgment,  uncoloured  by  en 
thusiasm  of  any  kind,  he  could  not  help  responding 
[82] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
to  the  aura  of  enthusiasm  into  which  he  was  enter 
ing.  The  great  plant  of  the  Howdy-do  mine 
disseminated  enthusiasm  in  shaking  vibrations. 
Milled  enthusiasm  stood  about  in  cars,  ready  for 
the  smelters.  Enthusiasm  roared  and  whirred  from 
the  concentrating  mill  where  wheels  were  turning 
and  bands  were  slipping;  where  a  tub,  ore-laden, 
was  jerking  and  clanking  through  the  hoister 
shaft;  where  men  on  an  upper  platform  were 
shovelling  the  dump  from  the  tub  into  great  crusher 
rolls ;  where  the  rolls  were  grinding  and  pounding, 
and  the  water  was  fashing  and  gurgling  down  the 
jigs.  The  whirr  of  it  all,  the  whizz  and  bang  of 
it,  the  whole  effect  of  it  all,  was,  to  any  man  in 
terested  in  the  development  of  ore,  a  great  forward 
impetus  that  swung  him  far  out,  limp  and  dizzy. 

"  Waiting  for  you,  Mr.  Madeira !  "  cried  a  man, 
who  fairly  shone  with  enthusiasm,  and  whose  voice 
tinkled  gladly  as  he  came  across  to  the  hitching 
rail  where  Miss  Madeira  had  stopped  her  horses. 
"  Mighty  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Sally — Mr.  Steer 
ing,  glad  to  meet  you,  sir.  Here  you,  Mike !  come 
and  look  after  these  horses.  Miss  Sally,  I'm  a-going 

to  have  to  take  you  round  to  the  tool-house  for 
[83] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

some  covers,  please  ma'am."  The  accommodating 
and  friendly  mine-boss  of  the  Howdy-do  led  Ma 
deira's  party  to  a  shed  opposite  his  mill  and  there 
outfitted  them  with  rubber  coats  and  caps,  talking 
to  them  all  the  while  in  that  tinkling  voice,  with  the 
glad  note  singing  in  it. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  Throcker,  how  much  did  the 
last  blast  bring  down?  "  Madeira  turned  to  Steer 
ing  before  Throcker  could  reply.  "  Whenever  a 
miner's  voice  shakes  and  sings  like  that,  his  last 
blast  has  meant  a  heap." 

"You  are  right,  sir!"  cried  Throcker,  "we 
opened  up  a  face  yesterday  that, — well,  it's  going 
to  take  us  weeks  to  handle  even  the  loose  ore  we've 
brought  down,  sir.  Come  this  way,  Miss  Sally, 
please  ma'am." 

Steering  began  to  wish  that  the  mine-boss  were 
not  so  happy.  It  had  an  electric  effect  upon  him. 
And  he  began  to  wish  that  he  himself  were  not  so 
happy.  He  dreaded  developments  that  would 
surely  be  change. 

"  Well,  Throcker,  my  boy,  my  ledge  of  Cherokee 
runs  up  here  from  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  d'you 
know  that?  "  said  Madeira.  He  put  his  thumbs  in 

[84] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
his  pockets  and  rocked  upon  the  balls  of  his  feet 
with  a  springing,  tip-toe  movement,  as  Throcker 
stopped  them  in  front  of  a  shaft  out  of  whose 
cavernous  depths  a  cage  was  swinging  toward  them. 
From  Madeira's  manner  you  might  have  inferred 
that  the  Cherokee  had  a  Madeira  permit  to  "  run 
up  here." 

In  the  cage  it  was  necessary  for  Steering  to 
extend  his  arm  behind  Miss  Madeira,  as  there  were 
no  sides  between  the  great  cables  at  the  four  cor 
ners.  It  was  not  a  very  large  cage  and  the  number 
on  it  crowded  it,  so  that  the  girl  rested  lightly  on 
Steering's  arm.  He  could  think  of  no  place  so 
deep  down  that  he  would  not  be  well  satisfied  to 
journey  to  it  like  that. 

But  there  came  a  jolt  and  a  jar,  the  cage  settled 
upon  the  stope,  and  the  journey  was  over. 
Throcker  led  the  way  through  a  thick  under 
ground  gloom.  Great  masses  of  crush-rock  slid 
under  foot,  there  was  a  black  drip  from  ceiling  and 
walls,  and  the  excavation  was  filled  with  the  hollow 
boom  of  the  water-  and  air-pumps.  With  lights 
flaring  uncertainly,  they  followed  the  mine-boss  out 
upon  a  rocky  crag  that  gave  upon  a  deep  abyss, 
[85] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

faintly  illuminated  by  the  flicker  of  the  lamps  of 
the  working  force  below  and  by  torches  set  in  the 
wall.  There  was  an  upward  slope  in  the  forma 
tion  of  the  ledge  from  the  bottom  of  the  cavern  to 
the  spur  upon  which  they  stood,  but  it  was  made 
by  irregular  juttings  with  ugly,  saw-tooth  pro 
jections.  Unless  they  were  very  near  the  edge 
they  could  not  follow  the  dim  outline  of  the  slope  at 
all.  Throcker  in  his  eagerness  to  point  out  the 
ore,  shining  like  specks  of  gold  all  up  and  down  the 
slope,  worked  dangerously  near  the  edge,  but  he 
was  accustomed  and  recovered  his  balance  easily 
when  a  piece  of  his  support  crumbled  away  under 
his  feet.  Steering,  who  was  agile  and  athletic, 
had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the  miner, 
but  Madeira  had  to  be  watchful.  The  miner  would 
not  let  Miss  Madeira  come  far  out  on  the  crag, 
though  he  let  the  men  follow  him,  calling  warnings 
to  them  as  they  came. 

"  From  where  you  stand,  Miss  Sally,"  Throcker 
turned  toward  the  girl  who  waited  below  the 
summit  of  the  crag,  "  from  where  you  stand  up  to 
here,  the  loose  ore  is  worth  about  sixty-five  thousand 
dollars!" 

[86] 


THE    TOWN    THAT   JACK    BUILT 

The  girl  looked  up  at  them  responsively. 
Standing  there  under  the  strange  flickering  light 
of  her  torch,  with  the  black  folds  of  the  rubber 
coat  swathing  her,  her  face,  with  its  fine  eyes,  was 
cut  out  for  Steering  sharp  as  a  cameo. 

"  I  am  delighted  for  your  sake,  Mr.  Throcker," 
she  called  gaily,  but  with  a  little  uneasiness  in  her 
voice.  "  Father,  please  be  careful." 

"  Sixty-five  thousand  dollars !  Why,  Lord  love 
you,  Throcker,  a  hundred  thousand,  if  one."  Ma 
deira,  taking  charge  of  the  probabilities  in  the 
case,  moved  toward  the  edge  to  support  his  esti 
mate  by  measuring  with  his  eye  the  distance  down 
the  crag. 

"  Father,  please  be  careful.  Watch  him,  Mr. 
Steering, — O-h-h-h!"  A  woman's  cry  of  horror 
rang  though  the  tunnelled  walls  as  Madeira's 
great  frame  toppled  on  the  edge  of  the  crag,  and 
disappeared. 

Throwing  out  his  right  arm  protcctingly,  as 
though  in  answer  to  the  girl  below,  Steering  had 
been  able  to  knot  the  sinewy  fingers  of  one  hand 
about  Madeira's  collar  as  the  latter  fell.  The 

force  of  the  fall  brought  Steering  to  his  knees, 
[87] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

then  flat  out  across  the  ledge,  to  get  all  the  pur 
chase  power  he  could.  Madeira's  weight  was  ter 
rific,  even  after  Steering  had  brought  his  other 
hand  into  requisition ;  and  though  Throcker  sprang 
to  the  rescue,  Throcker  was  a  weak  man  and  the 
best  aid  that  he  could  render  was  to  assume  a  small 
share  of  Madeira's  weight  by  getting  down  flat 
upon  the  ledge,  after  Steering's  fashion.  In  the 
black  hole  below  the  miners  saw  what  had  hap 
pened  and  two  burly  men  began  to  clamber  up  the 
treacherous  slope. 

"  Gently,  boys,  gently,"  warned  Throcker,  as 
the  men  came  on;  he  and  Steering  could  feel  the 
rock  upon  which  they  lay  vibrate;  there  was  a 
rending  and  splitting  going  on  all  through  the 
ledge.  "  Can  you  hold  on  a  minute  alone,  sir?  " 
gasped  Throcker  suddenly.  "  I  have  a  bad  heart 
and  it's  going  back  on  me," — he  fell  weakly  beside 
Steering. 

"  Yes,  I  can  hold  on  alone."  Steering's  face  was 
in  the  loose  crush,  and  his  lips  were  cut  by  the  rock 
when  he  opened  them,  so  he  stopped  trying  to 
talk. 

"  Get  back,  Mr.  Throcker — let  me  get  my  hands 

[88] 


THE    TOWN    THAT   JACK    BUILT 
down  and  help    Mr.  Steering."     It  was  the  girl's 
voice,  and  the  girl  was  beside  Steering,  quiet   and 
capable. 

"  Oh,  you  ?  "  said  Steering.  He  had  known  all 
these  seconds  that  he  was  doing  this  for  her,  but 
the  strain  that  he  was  on  had  somehow  pulled  him 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  her  as  actual ;  for  the 
last  ten  seconds  she  had  been  rather  a  big  abstrac 
tion,  a  high  principle  of  his  soul,  a  good  desire  in 
his  heart.  To  see  her  there  before  him  was  to  see 
abstraction,  principle,  desire  becoming  adequately 
incarnate.  "  No,  you  mustn't  try  to  reach  down 
here, — your  arms  aren't  long  enough, — the  com 
motion  on  the  edge  here  is  dangerous, — if  you  will 
just  put  something,  your  handkerchief,  under  my 
face  where  the  sharp  little  rocks  are  at  it, — ah,  you 
should  not  have  done  that!  " — she  had  slipped  her 
hands  beneath  his  face,  and  the  touch  of  her  fingers 
was  like  velvet  as  she  worked  away  the  sticking, 
stinging  bits  of  ore  and  rock  that  worried 
him.  He  had  not  known  how  chief  a  part  in  his 
sensation  of  discomfort  those  bits  had  played  until 
he  could  bury  his  face  in  the  relief  of  her  soft 

hands.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  with  those  bits  out  of 
[89] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

his  cheeks, — and  his  face  in  her  hands, — he  felt 
no  great  discomfort  at  all.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
her  shivering  sigh  of  relief  he  would  have  been 
sorry  when  the  miners  drew  Madeira  up.  Madeira 
had  not  spoken,  and  he  was  purple  as  they  carried 
him  to  a  place  of  safety  some  distance  back  on  the 
ledge. 

"  He  is  just  the  sort  of  man  physically  who 
ought  not  to  be  subjected  to  choking  experiences," 
said  Steering.  One  of  the  miners  had  brought 
water,  and  Steering  and  Miss  Madeira  were  reviv 
ing  Madeira  with  it.  Madeira  did  not  seem  to  be 
unconscious,  but  his  senses  were  obtunded,  and  it 
was  some  minutes  before  he  could  sit  up. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  God  bless  my  soul ! "  he 
said,  at  last,  and  shivered.  Then  he  turned  to 
Steering :  "  My  boy,  you  know  how  to  hold  on.  I 
believe  you've  got  as  much  stick-to-it-iveness  as  I 
have."  It  was  his  supremest  form  of  acknowl 
edgment,  and,  in  making  it,  he  made,  too,  an  im 
pression  upon  Steering  that  he  resented  the  cir 
cumstances  that  compelled  him  to  make  it. 

They  got  back  to  the  upper  air  presently,  fol 
lowed  by  a  cheer  from  the  mine  force  below.     The 
[90] 


THE    TOWN    THAT   JACK    BUILT 

miners  had  watched  Steering  perform  one  of  those 
supernatural  feats  of  strength  and  endurance  that 
an  onlooker  can  never  explain  afterward.  Usually 
the  performer  knows  that  the  thing  was  a  matter 
of  motive  and  will,  not  muscle. 

Up  in  the  daylight  again,  Madeira  was  quickly 
himself  again.  He  resumed  charge  of  affairs  in  his 
comprehensive  way,  and  though  the  mine-boss, 
frightened  and  remorseful,  was  limp  now,  all  his 
enthusiasm  gone,  Madeira's  welled  up  again  strong 
within  him.  They  went  back  to  their  horses  without 
loss  of  time,  and,  waving  adieux  to  Throcker  and 
some  of  his  men  who  had  gathered  about,  they  were 
soon  journeying  back  down  the  white  road  toward 
Joplin.  Miss  Madeira's  hands  were  in  bad  condi 
tion  for  driving,  Steering  thought,  but  she  had 
taken  the  reins  just  the  same. 

"  We  are  all  dilapidated  for  the  matter  of  that," 
she  said.  "  Father  is  as  grey-faced  as  a  rat,  your 
cheeks  are  all  cut  and  pricked — my  hands  don't 
count." 

Twilight  was  coming  on  and  a  full  moon  was 
rising.  The  great  sweep  of  flat  stretched  out 

about  them  in  a  mesh  of  soft  light.    The  ride  back 
[91] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

was  gay,  and  when  they  stopped  at  the  house  of  the 
Joplin  man,  who  was  their  host,  all  three  were  still 
in  nervously  high  spirits.  A  negro  servant  came 
out  for  the  horses,  and  Steering  helped  Miss  Ma 
deira  to  alight.  The  girl  had  drawn  off  her  driv 
ing  gauntlets,  and  the  ungloved  hand  that  she  gave 
him  was  scratched  and  scarred  across  its  brown 
back. 

"  Isn't  that  shameful, — and  you  did  it  for  me !  " 
mourned  Steering. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  have  done  more ! "  she  cried 
breathlessly,  "  if  I  could  do  more, — as  much  as 
you  have  done  for  me !  If  I  have  not  thanked 
you,  you  know," — what  she  was  saying  was  frag 
mentary  and  confused,  but  her  eyes  were  shining 
sweetly  upon  him, — "  it's  because  I  can't.  You 
must  understand  that.  I  never  can  talk  when  I  am 
busy  feeling.  How  are  your  shoulders  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any,"  replied  Steer 
ing,  with  wretched  prevarication. 

"  Come  on,  Honey,  come  on."  Madeira  was  at 
the  stone  steps  of  the  Joplin  house,  and  the  girl 
took  his  arm  and  climbed  the  steps  with  him.  At 

the  top  Madeira  turned  back  to  Steering,  who  was 
[92] 


THE  TOWN  THAT  JACK  BUILT 
a  step  behind.  "  Well,  old  man,  let's  have  it  out 
now,  before  we  go  in  and  get  mixed  up  with  these 
strangers.  What  about  those  shares?  Coming  in 
with  us,  I  reckon?  "  It  was  like  Madeira  to  select  a 
position  of  advantage  like  that,  a  higher  place 
from  which  he  could  look  down  and  dominate,  with 
his  daughter  beside  him,  and  it  was  like  him  to  select 
a  moment  like  that,  a  moment  when  the  three  were 
close,  on  the  very  summit  of  their  friendship  and 
sympathy.  "  We  are  to  be  all  together  on  that 
deal,  aren't  we?  " 

Though  the  girl,  her  arm  linked  through  her 
father's,  was  waiting  for  his  answer,  and  though 
Steering  saw  that  she  expected  his  acquiescence  as 
the  right  and  natural  thing,  her  influence  upon 
him,  despite  that,  was  all  for  the  rejection  of 
Madeira's  proposition.  She  looked  so  young,  so 
straight,  so  honest,  that,  as  an  influence,  she  was 
ranged  against  Madeira,  even  though,  in  her  ig 
norance,  she  imagined  herself  to  be  in  harmony 
with  him.  Steering,  looking  at  her  first  and  Ma 
deira  next,  knew  that  she  really  fashioned  his  an 
swer,  that  it  was  really  all  because  of  her  that  his 

words  came,  swiftly,  earnestly: 
[93] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Don't  allot  me  any  shares  at  all,  Mr.  Madeira. 
I  have  decided  not  to  go  into  the  company." 

Madeira  emitted  a  breezy  "  All  right.  God  bless 
you,  all  right."  The  girl  looked  sorry  and  puzzled. 
Steering  came  on  up  the  steps  behind  them,  with  a 
sense  of  mingled  elation  and  sadness,  and  the  three 
passed  through  the  door  of  the  Joplin  man's  house. 


[94] 


Chapter  Six 

FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

MADEIRA  PLACE  was  the  old  Peele 
Farm,  whose  square  brick  house  had 
been  the  boast  of  Canaan  township 
ever  since  it  had  been  put  up, — out  of  brick  hauled 
by  team  across  three  counties, — by  the  man  who 
had  established,  but  failed,  despite  his  effort,  to 
make  permanent  the  fortunes  of  his  family.  When 
the  grandnephew,  Bruce  Grierson,  came  on,  the 
brick  house  was  plastered  with  a  mortgage  that 
somehow  passed  eventually  into  the  hands  of  the 
then  alert  young  sapling  land-agent,  Crittenton 
Madeira.  Crittenton  took  the  house,  and,  by  and 
by,  Bruce  Grierson,  the  second,  took  himself,  with 
money  borrowed  from  Madeira,  out  of  Canaan, 
never  to  return.  It  was  not  long  after  this  that 
Crittenton  Madeira,  who  was  still  a  slight  man, 
with  a  young  wife  and  a  pretty  baby  out  at  the 
brick  house,  began  to  be  named  "  our  esteemed  fel 
low  townsman  "  by  the  Canaan  Call.  Madeira 

[95] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

built  a  hotel  for  Canaan,  promoted  the  Canaan 
Short  Line,  and  established  the  Bank  of  Canaan. 
His  wife  died,  and  his  little  girl  grew,  and  he  be 
came  large  of  girth.  It  was  not  until  his  daughter 
was  twelve  that  he  had  to  share  honours  with  any 
one  as  the  foremost  personage  of  Tigmore  County. 
At  twelve  the  daughter  began  to  show  that  she  had 
inherited  her  father's  vitality,  though  the  sphere 
of  her  activities  was  different.  He  bought  and  sold 
and  made  money.  She  lassoed  heifers,  broke  colts, 
and  rode  up  and  down  the  Di  in  rickety  skiffs.  The 
community  took  as  much  pride  in  her  adventures  as 
it  did  in  his  achievements. 

The  Madeiras  were  very  happy  together  all 
through  those  days,  and  very  proud  of  each  other. 
She  recognised  that  her  father  was  superior  to  the 
Canaan  men,  that  they  did  what  he  told  them  to 
do,  and  he  recognised  that  she  was  the  most  wonder 
ful  child,  and  the  most  beautiful,  that  had  ever 
come  into  the  world.  His  convictions  on  that  score 
were  so  profound  that  they  seemed  to  him  some 
thing  surer  and  bigger  than  the  customary  pater 
nal  pride  and  affection.  As  the  girl  grew  older  he 

spent  a  great  deal  of  his  money  on  her  education 
[96] 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 
and  pleasure — at  first  blindly,  guided  only  by  a 
big  impulse  to  have  her  as  good  as  the  best,  an 
impulse  that  resulted  in  some  funnily  pathetic 
scenes  where  the  little  girl,  frightfully  over-dressed, 
wandered  through  the  St.  Louis  shops,  holding  to 
the  big  man's  finger,  trying  to  think  up  something 
else  that  she  might  possibly  want.  Later,  under  the 
girl's  own  direction,  the  money  went  to  better  pur 
pose. 

His  daughter's  way  of  spending  the  money  early 
became,  in  Madeira's  manner  of  getting  at  the 
thing,  a  sort  of  balance-wheel  to  his  way  of  making 
it.  Although  he  had  made  money  in  the  same  way 
before  she  was  born,  and  although  he  would  have 
made  it  in  the  same  way  had  she  never  been  born, 
he  grew  to  like  the  feeling  that  what  he  did  he  did 
for  her,  and  that  his  desire  to  make  money  had  a 
soul  in  his  desire  to  have  her  spend  it.  This  feel 
ing  was  in  the  ascendant  always  when  he  was  with 
her.  Unconsciously  she  fanned  it  within  him.  She 
had  spent  her  young  life  couched  rosily  on  his  love 
for  her  and  hers  for  him ;  at  home  she  was  lonely ; 
at  home  Madeira  was  well-nigh  perfect,  and  the 

girl's  imagination  made  all  her  ideals  live  in  the 
[97] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

big,  handsome,  assertive  man  who  was  at  once  father 
to  her  and  hero.  Perceiving  this,  Madeira,  with 
her,  entered  into  a  sort  of  world  of  make-believe, 
and,  with  her,  was  sometimes  able  to  take  himself 
for  what  she  held  him,  a  man  whose  honour  matched 
his  ability,  and,  with  her,  sometimes  surprised  in 
himself  the  little  glow  that  she  seemed  to  get  when 
she  was  profoundly  appreciating  him. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  they  were  sitting,  father 
and  daughter, in  the  garden,  behind  the  brick  house, 
he  with  a  St.  Louis  paper  on  his  knee,  his  head 
bare,  his  waistcoat  loose,  his  feet  in  slippers.  His 
chair  was  tilted  back  against  a  crab-apple  tree  at 
the  side  of  one  of  the  garden  walks.  For  several 
weeks  his  face  had  been  showing  some  sort  of 
strain,  but  at  this  moment  he  looked  comfortable. 
She  had  been  telling  him  that  she  was  glad  that  he 
had  put  up  the  new  watering  trough  in  Court 
House  Square,  and  the  way  she  had  talked  about  it 
had  made  him  feel  sure  that  he  had  had  some  notion, 
when  he  did  it,  of  benefiting  the  community,  in 
stead  of  insuring  that  the  farmers  would  stop  in 
front  of  the  Grange  store,  in  which  he  was  inter 
ested. 

[98] 


FATHER    AND   DAUGHTER 

She  sat  on  a  bench  near  him,  quite  idle;  her 
gown,  a  tawny  drapery,  whose  half-hidden  sug 
gestions  of  blue  were  like  shy  spring  flowers,  was 
sheathed  closely  about  her ;  her  eyes  were  following 
the  pale  wide  river  below  the  garden;  her  hair,  so 
light  that  it  made  her  eyes  seem  lighter,  was  piled 
above  the  warm,  creamy  tan  of  her  forehead ;  there 
was  a  little  drowsy  droop  on  her  face ;  the  dusky- 
gold  radiance  was  all  about  her. 

"  Daddy,"  she  said,  by  and  by,  "  do  you  know 
that  I  swam  the  Di  once?  "  He  laughed  sleepily. 
He  remembered.  "  I  wonder  if  I  could  do  it  now — 
I  was  pretty  awful  as  a  youngster,  wasn't  I, 
Daddy?" 

"  You  certainly  had  a  reputation,"  he  admitted. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  still  have  a  good  deal  of  a 
reputation " — she  turned  upon  him  with  more 
directness  and  a  little  laughing  pugnacity — "  as 
though  I  were  the  same  terrible  child,  up  to  the 
same  riotous  tricks  as  when  I  was  twelve ! " 

"  Hump-mmh,  hump-mmh !  "  He  looked  at  her 
from  under  his  slanted  lids  and  shook  his  head, 
while  his  big  face  quivered  with  amusement.  "  You 

haven't  given  up  all  your  riotous  tricks  even  yet-— 
[99] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

don't  tell  me."  He  spoke  with  the  indulgence  that 
had  allowed  free  rein  to  her  caprices  all  her  life. 

"  Never  you  mind,  I  do  precious  little  that  is 
riotous  any  more;  I  am  getting  used  to  harness," 
she  made  answer,  and  looked  as  though  she  did  not 
mean  to  be  interfered  with  in  the  precious  little  that 
was  riotous  that  she  still  clung  to,  and  then  looked 
as  though  she  were  threatening  herself  with  sweep 
ing  reform.  "  Go  back  to  sleep,  Daddy.  You  will 
be  in  my  way  presently,  anyhow." 

"  Anybody  coming  ?  " 

"  Your  Mr.  Steering." 

"  '  My ! '  Madeira's  face  clouded  over,  and  he 
thrust  out  his  jaw  grimacingly.  "  If  he  were  mine, 
you  know  what  I  should  do  with  him  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
a  sharp  voice. 

"  No,  I  don't  know.  What  would  you  do  with 
him?" 

"  I  should  send  him  packing  back  East.  This 
country  don't  need, — aw,  the  people  of  this  country 
are  good  enough  for  the  country  and  the  country 
is  good  enough  for  them.  We  don't  need  out 
siders." 

He  was  so  vehement  that  she  regarded  him  ques- 
[100] 


FATHER    AND   DAUGHTER 

tioningly.  "  Don't  you  like  him  any  more?  "  she 
inquired,  with  a  little  dubious  shake  of  her  head. 

"  I  don't  like  " — Madeira  got  up  and  walked 
back  and  forth  under  the  crab-apple  tree — "  I 
don't  like  for  a  man  without  any  practical  knowl 
edge  or  experience  to  get  a  lot  of  ideas  about  a 
thing  and  bring  them  to  a  field  and  try  to  push 
other  chaps  out,  other  chaps  who  are  already  in  the 
field." 

"  Yes,  but "    It  occurred  to  her  that  she  was 

defending  Steering — "  but  if  he  brings  the  ideas, 
he  ought  to  have  the  credit  for  originating  the 
ideas,  oughtn't  he?  " 

"  No !  No !  "  Madeira's  voice  rang  up,  urgent, 
strident;  he  did  not  seem  conscious  that  he  was 
talking  to  her ;  he  seemed  rather  to  be  having  some 
thing  out  with  himself.  The  strain  of  the  past 
weeks  had  come  back  to  his  face.  "  Plenty  of  peo 
ple  before  this  Steering  have  thought  of  ore  in  the 
Canaan  Tigmores.  Look  at  old  Grierson  himself! 
Originate  the  idea!  Grierson  had  the  idea  before 
Steering  was  born !  We  can  get  ideas  in  this  coun 
try,  and  work  'em  out,  too,  without  any  help  from 
outsiders." 

[101] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Mr.  Steering  is  not  exactly  an  outsider,  is 
he?" 

"  Yes,  he  is,  too.  He  hasn't  any  more  claim  to 
this  land  now  than  you  have;  it  isn't  any  more 
his  business  what's  done  here  during  Grierson's 
lifetime  than  it's  Rockefeller's  business.  Not  a  bit. 
Let  Steering  wait  till  the  land  is  his." 

"  Well ,"— she  was  troubled,—"  in  the  mean 
time,  what  is  old  Grierson  going  to  do?  " 

Madeira  seemed  to  be  trying  to  quiet  himself. 
He  went  down  to  the  garden  fence  and  looked  at 
the  oak  forest  on  the  other  side  of  the  Di,  puckered 
up  his  mouth,  as  though  to  whistle,  but  stopped 
short  of  it,  and  came  sauntering  back  toward  his 
daughter.  "  He  is  going  to  do  what  I  tell  him  to 
do,  Honey,"  he  made  answer.  "  And  I'm  telling 
him  to  put  the  Canaan  Mining  and  Development 
Company  into  the  Tigmores  after  zinc." 

"  I  should  think,  though,"  she  said  then,  slowly, 
"  that  even  if  the  matter  is  in  your  hands  now,  it 
would  be  to  your  ultimate  advantage  to  have  Mr. 
Steering  in  with  you.  He  is  the  next  owner,  and, 
if  old  Grierson  should  die,  whatever  work  you  have 
done  on  the  Tigmores  would  go  for  nothing.  I 
[102] 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER 
should  think  it  would  be  almost  essential  for  you 
and  Mr.  Steering  to  be  together." 

He  let  his  chair  down  angrily.  "  There  isn't  a 
big  enough  scheme  in  the  universe  to  accommodate 
Steering  and  me  together !  He  is  a  blamed  idiot," 
he  said  doggedly.  And  it  became  clear  to  her  that 
in  his  bull-headed  way  he  had  forged  all  the  links 
of  one  of  his  intense  antagonisms.  He  had  been 
like  that  all  his  life;  of  pronounced  personality 
himself,  he  had  never  been  able  to  abide  pronounced 
personality  in  those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 
He  had  ridden  rough-shod  over  inferior  men  all  his 
life;  he  liked  to  ride  rough-shod;  he  was  never 
pleased  when  his  path  crossed  people  over  whom  he 
could  not  ride  rough-shod.  Generally  she  had  ac 
cepted  his  classification  of  those  who  opposed  him 
strongly  as  "  blamed  idiots " ;  sometimes  with  a 
little  of  her  laughing  banter,  but  usually,  his  su 
periority  standing  out  sharp  and  clear  when 
opposed  to  the  dull  Canaanites,  endorsing  his 
opinion.  "  I  sort  of  wish,"  he  went  on,  with 
that  keen,  wire-edged  exasperation  still  sawing  in 
his  voice,  "  that  you  wouldn't  have  much  to  do 
with  that  chap.  He  isn't  my  kind  of  people.  I 
[103] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

shouldn't  mind  if,  now  that  you've  given  him  a 
good  high  swing,  you'd  let  him  drop." 

"  Why,  Father !  You  oughtn't  to  forget  that 
there  was  one  time  in  your  life  when  he  might  have 
let  you  drop — and  didn't !  " 

He  saw  that  he  had  got  himself  before  her  in  too 
keen  a  light. 

"  Yes,  but  you  don't  expect  me  to  let  him  hold 
me  up  by  the  collar  forever,  do  you,  Pet?  That's 
his  dog-on  way,  anyhow — wants  to  dictate.  I  can't 
stand  a  man  who  wants  to  dictate.  I  think  we've 
had  enough  of  him.  That's  what  I  mean,  and  all  I 
mean."  He  patted  her  hands  and  got  up  from 
his  chair  again.  "  There  comes  Samson  with  the 
mail,"  he  said  nervously. 

A  negro  man  rode  up  through  the  big  gate  at  the 
front  of  the  grounds  and  came  on  to  Madeira,  who 
took  two  letters  from  him.  "  One  for  you,  Sally," 
said  Madeira,  "  and  one  for  me." 

"  Oh,  from  Elsie  Gossamer!  "  she  cried,  and  took 
her  letter  and  sat,  unobservant  of  him,  for  several 
moments,  the  little  frown  that  his  words  had 
brought  out  still  on  her  brow.  Presently  she 
looked  up  and  saw  that  he  had  read  his  letter,  and 
[104J 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 
had  put  it  in  his  pocket ;  he  was  tilted  back  against 
the  crab-apple  tree  again,  his  forehead  knit,  his 
eyes  brilliant,  a  peculiar  fixity  in  their  gaze.  "  Oh, 
here ! "  she  cried  protestingly,  "  you  look  as 
though  you  had  just  decided  to  become  the  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  of  America !  Stop  scowl 
ing  and  listen;  Elsie  is  after  me  again  to  join  her 
in  Europe.  She  is  fairly  eloquent  with  the 
project " 

He  broke  in  upon  her  with  a  sudden  intensity  of 
interest:  "Do  it!"  he  cried.  "It's  the  very 
thing.  You  go.  You  go  and  have  a  good  time." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  so  awfully,"  she  began  hesi 
tatingly.  "  I've  been  away  from  you  a  lot  in  the 
last  two  years.  I  don't  care  so  much  about  it." 

"  Yes,  you  do ;  you  go."  He  was  always  keen 
for  her  pleasure,  but  in  the  present  case  he  seemed 
especially  earnest. 

"  Want  to  get  rid  of  me,  huh?  " 

"  No ;  you  know  I'll  half  die  without  you.  But  I 
am  going  to  be  fearfully  busy  from  now  on," — his 
mouth  seemed  hot  and  dry  as  he  talked, — "  it  will 
suit  better  now  than  ever.  You  go." 

"  Well,  maybe,"  she  said.     She  was  accustomed 
[10A] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

to  let  her  own  fancy  settle  such  questions  for  her. 
"  Maybe  I'll  go.  Maybe  I  shan't."  There  was  a 
click  at  the  front  gate.  "  I  expect  that's  Mr. 
Steering,"  she  announced. 

Madeira  got  out  of  his  chair  quickly.  "  If  it  is, 
I  don't  want  to  see  him,"  he  said,  "  he — oh,  he 
irritates  me,  that  man, — always  wanting  to  dictate. 
I'll  go  in.  Don't  want  ever  to  see  him  again, — 
and  say,  Pet?" 

"Well,  Dad?" 

"  I'd  be  glad  if  you  would  never  see  him  again. 
Just  stop  where  you  are,  will  you?  " 

She  drew  a  long  sighing  breath.  "  Just  stop 
where  I  am?  Well,  I'll  see,"  she  said,  laughing 
and  flushing  in  the  warm,  rich  fashion  of  her  skin, 
but  there  was  the  faint  far  call  of  uneasiness  in  her 
laughter,  like  a  wind- whisper  of  coming  rain. 
"  Tell  Samson  to  bring  Mr.  Steering  out  here  to 
me,"  she  commanded,  and  Madeira  went  off  toward 
the  house  and  disappeared  through  the  green- 
latticed  porch. 

Inside  the  house  he  retired  to  the  room  that  was 
known  as  his  office,  locked  the  door  and  came  over 
to  his  desk.     As  he  did  it  a  peculiar  consciousness 
[106] 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER 

of  himself  suffused  him  like  the  first  fumes  of  a 
deadly  narcotic.  He  began  to  see  that  he  was  lift 
ing  his  feet  stealthily,  advancing  them  stealthily, 
stealthily  setting  them  down,  with  the  soundless  fall 
of  a  cat's  foot  on  velvet.  Reaching  his  desk,  he 
half  fell  into  a  chair  there,  a  thin  line  of  white 
froth  between  his  lips,  his  big  face  purplish.  "  Eh, 
God?  "  he  cried,  "  what's  this?  what's  this?  " 

The  seizure  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come. 
By  and  by  he  heard  Steering  pass  through  the 
house  under  Samson's  escort.  When  the  sound 
of  Steering's  foot-steps  had  died  away,  Madeira 
took  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  spread  it  open  before 
him  and  read  it  over  and  over. 

"  Dear  Crit,"  [the  letter  said]  "  I  have  thought 
this  thing  to  a  finish.  I  want  you  to  turn  the 
Tigmores  over  to  my  cousin,  Bruce  Steering.  Let 
him  start  at  once  on  the  jack  trail,  that  primrose 
path  of  dalliance.  As  for  me,  my  dear  sir,  by  the 
time  this  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  on  the  long 
trail.  You  needn't  blow  any  trumpets  about  it, 
for  B.  G.  will  have  no  funeral.  The  name  that  I 
gave  you  as  the  name  that  I  live  here  under  is  good 
[107] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

enough  to  die  here  under.  The  certain  fact  for 
your  consideration  is  that  I  die  at  once,  and  that 
the  question  of  this  property  entail  is  now  con 
fided  to  you  to  arrange  for  my  heir,  young  Steer 
ing.  Write  to  the  clerk  of  Snow  Mountain 
County  for  the  documents  that  I  have  left  with  him 
for  you.  They  establish  everything.  Tell  my 
cousin  that,  besides  the  Tigmores,  I  bequeath  him 
my  debts  to  you.  This  leaves  me  not  at  all  envious 
of  the  job  ahead  of  him,  and,  as  ever, 

"  Your  blindly  devoted  servant, 

"  BEUCE  GRIEESON.'* 


[108] 


Chapter  Seven 

THE    GARDEN    OF    DREAMS 

CRITTENTON  MADEIRA'S  daughter 
wandered  down  the  garden  path,  sing 
ing  softly,  after  her  father  had  left  her, 
but  there  was  in  her  song,  as  there  had  been  in  her 
laughter,  a  little  tremble  of  unrest.  The  garden 
was  a  delicious  place,  whose  fragrance  beat  up  in 
waves  of  sweetness  at  every  turn.  All  the  flowers 
were  in  their  luxuriant  last  bloom.  There  were 
great  roses  and  sweet  elysium,  mignonette,  pepper 
mint  pinks,  crepe  myrtle,  riotous  vines  and  creepers. 
Long  ago  she  had  taken  everything  out  of  the  gar 
den  that  was  not  sweet.  She  had  a  fancy  that 
fragrance  was  one  of  the  spirit's  tremulous  paths 
into  heaven,  and  out  in  the  garden  she  liked  to  shut 
her  eyes  and,  with  her  little  straight  nose  in  the  air, 
go  drifting  off  toward  what  was  infinitely  good, 
fine,  strong,  imperishable.  It  sometimes  seemed  to 
her  that  the  most  intimate  and  exquisite  happi 
nesses  of  her  life  had  come  to  her  with  her  eyes 
[109] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

shut  in  that  garden.  She  called  it  the  Garden  of 
Dreams. 

When  Steering  found  her,  she  was  waiting  for 
him,  her  arms  on  an  old  vine-covered  stump,  that 
dusky-gold  radiance  of  hers  playing  over  her  and 
from  her,  the  most  beautifully,  glowingly  alive 
woman  in  the  world.  What  he  said  to  her  was 
"  How-do-you-do  ?  "  But  what  he  wanted  to  say 
was,  "  Oh,  stand  there  so  forever,  and  let  every 
grace,  every  beauty  burn  into  my  brain,  so  that  all 
my  life  I  may  carry  you  about  with  me,  your  wine- 
warm  eyes,  your  sunlit  hair,  the  whole  sweet  glow 
of  you, — having  you  perfectly,  knowing  you  per 
fectly  everywhere,  everyhow,  near,  far,  in  the  sun 
shine,  in  the  dark ! "  And  when  a  man  wants  to 
talk  like  that  "  how-do-you-do  "  is  as  good  a  catch- 
phrase  as  the  next  to  keep  his  tongue  discreet. 

"  I  do  very  well,"  she  told  him,  smiling  at  him, 
maddening  him,  "  I  always  do  well,  here  in  my 
garden, — but  you,  you  put  my  sense  of  well-being 
to  shame.  You  look  so  glad !  " 

"  I  am  the  gladdest  man  on  earth,"  Bruce  told 
her,  knowing  chiefly  that  he  had  her  hand  in  his. 

He  barely  remembered  in  time  that  she  was  rich  in 
[110] 


THE  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 
gold  and  lands  and  cattle,  and  that  he  was  poor, 
and  that  the  positivism  of  his  personality  had 
already  incurred  the  ill-will  of  her  father.  "  Still, 
I  don't  think  there  is  any  doubt  in  the  world  how  it 
is  all  going  to  end,"  he  said  hazily.  He  still  had 
her  hand.  She  had  the  hardest  hand  to  put  down 
that  he  had  ever  taken  up. 

"I  don't  quite  follow?  All  what?"  She  bit 
her  lip;  her  eyes  flashed  off  across  the  Di,  bright 
and  swift  as  mating  birds,  as  she  drew  her  hand 
gently  away. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  a  man  may  go  on  and 
on  through  so  many  meaningless  years,  of  no  special 
significance  to  himself  or  to  anybody  else  and  then 
suddenly, — think  everything  is  going  to  be  all 
right  some  day."  He  clasped  his  hands  and  leaned 
on  the  other  side  of  the  vine-covered  stump  and 
looked  at  her  wishfully,  and  she  laughed  at  him, 
with  her  eyes  still  on  the  pale  river. 

"  How  do  you  like  my  garden  ?  "  she  asked 
divertingly.  For  answer  he  shut  his  eyes  and 
breathed  deeply.  "  Oh,  how  good !  "  she  cried, 
satisfied,  "  that's  the  only  way  really  to  follow  the 

path  of  fragrance, — that's  my  own  way !  "     He 
[111] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

blessed  his  stars  that  he  had  sniffed  at  the  roses. 
"  Where  did  the  path  lead  you?  "  she  queried,  as  he 
opened  his  eyes  dreamily  upon  her  golden  beauty. 
"  Into  heaven,"  he  murmured  with  sublime  con 
viction,  and  she  clasped  her  slender  hands,  de 
lighted  at  their  mystical  congeniality. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  we  like  the  same  thing," 
she  continued,  hurrying  a  little ;  "  haven't  you 
noticed? — we  both  like  the  garden, — and  we  both 
like  Piney .  When  did  you  see  Piney  ?  " 

"Piney?  Oh,  I  see  Piney  often."  He  rather 
wished  that  she  had  not  mentioned  Piney.  Since  he 
had  come  to  know  the  tramp-boy  better  his  first 
ache  for  him  had  become  sharper  and  sharper. 
"  Piney  and  I  were  out  on  the  hills  together  only 
yesterday.  Poor  Piney !  " 

"  Why,"  she  took  his  hand  and  led  him  forward 
through  a  tangle  of  rose-bushes ;  she  would  not 
look  at  him,  but  the  bewildering  sweetness  of  her 
hair,  her  gown,  the  curve  of  her  cheek  came  back 
to  him — "why  poor  Piney?"  She  was  guiding 
him  to  a  bench  of  twisted  grape-vines  from  which 
they  might  look  down  upon  the  river.  "  Sit  down," 

she  said,  "  and  tell  me  why  poor  Piney  ?  " 
[112] 


THE   GARDEN    OF    DREAMS 
"  Well,"  he  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  river, 
half -frowning,  "  it  has  seemed  to  me — I've  had  a 
notion — oh,  I  don't  know.     I  suppose  it  is  not  poor 
Piney  after  all." 

"Tell  me,"  she  insisted,  "tell  me  what  you  started 
to  tell  me." 

"  Well,  it  has  seemed  to  me  ever  since  I  first  met 
Piney  that  he  was  in  the  way  of  trouble,"  he 
dashed  on  more  abruptly,  thinking  only  of  Piney 
for  a  moment — "  I  have  come  to  love  that  boy.  I 
find  myself  clinging  to  him.  I  think  it  is  because 
he  stands  to  me  for  the  spirit  of  my  own  boyhood ; 
perhaps  that,  perhaps  because  he  stands  for  the 
spirit  of  the  woods  he  loves ;  because  he  stands  for 
simplicity,  honesty,  spontaneity.  At  any  rate  he  is 
rare,  what  with  his  musical  gift  and  his  high 
melody  of  living — and — oh  well,  I've  sometimes  felt 
sorry  that  he  is  not  all  wood-spirit,  that  he  is  , 
part  human."  The  characteristics  that  had  made 
Steering  stand  too  determinedly  to  suit  Crittenton 
Madeira  made  him  forge  ahead  determinedly  now. 
"  Piney  would  be  apt  to  suffer  less  if  he  were  wholly 
the  sylvan,  irresponsible  creature,  the  faun,  he 

sometimes  seems  to  be.    But,  alas,  Piney  has  a  man's 
[113] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

heart,  Miss  Madeira.  He  will  have  to  suffer  for 
that,  for  he  will  have  to  love.  That's  why  '  poor  ' 
Piney ;  because  he  will  have  to  love." 

"  Would  that  be  so  terrible?  "  The  flash  from 
the  amber  eyes  that  she  turned  up  to  him  made  the 
world  go  zig-zagging  through  a  long  space  while 
Steering  looked  on  with  a  great  tremulous  intake  of 
breath.  Then  he  steadied  again  to  what  he  wanted 
to  say  to  her  and  could  say  to  her  for  Piney's  sake. 

"  It  would  be  for  Piney.  Piney  is  going  to  love 
hopelessly,"  he  saw  that  a  little  shiver  caught  her 
and  he  was  glad  of  it.  "  Yes,  it  would  be  terrible 
to  love  hopelessly,  wouldn't  it? "  he  said,  to 
strengthen  his  hidden  appeal  for  Piney.  He 
wanted  to  make  her  realise  what  she  was  doing  for 
Piney,  realise  that  for  sheer  kindness,  kindness  as 
to  a  dumb  thing,  she  should  never  let  the  lad  come 
near  her.  He  had  forgotten  the  woman  in  her 
when  he  began  to  formulate  that  appeal.  She 
laughed  a  light,  mocking  laugh. 

"  I  believe  that  you  think  that  Piney  loves  me !  " 

she  cried.     "  Piney,  the  spirit  of  the  oaks !  the 

song   of   the   night-wind!     Piney   suffer!     Piney 

love ! "     Steering  was  sorry  to  hear  the  note  of 

[114] 


THE    GARDEN    OF    DREAMS 

evasion  in  her  voice.  No  woman,  he  remembered, 
too  late,  could  be  brought  to  treat  man's  love  or 
boy's  love  quite  honestly.  His  eyes  clouded.  He 
felt  masculmely,  sanely  sympathetic  with  Piney. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  gloomily,  "  that  you  would 
sometimes  put  yourself  in  the  place  of  a  man  who 
loves  you,  put  yourself  in  Piney's  place." 

Her  eyes  crinkled  up  again.  "  I'll  just  do  it," 
she  said  gaily,  "  I'll  do  it  now.  Presto,"  she  shut 
her  eyes.  "  Now  I  have  his  point  of  view.  Now 
I'm  seeing  what  he  sees — that  Miss  Sally  Madeira 
likes  to  hear  him  sing,  and  humours  him  and  pets 
him  because  he  is  gay  and  glad  to  be  alive,  and 
because  Uncle  Bernique  says  that  he  needs  some 
body  to  mother  him.  I  mother  Piney.  Can't  you 
see  that."  She  laughed  again  and  arose  and  stood 
in  front  of  him,  gay,  mocking,  nonchalant. 
"  Piney  love !  And  if  Piney  could  love,  that  you 
should  fancy  that  he  might  dare  love  Salome 
Madeira!" 

He    forgot    about    Piney.       She    blocked    his 

farther  vision  like  a  shaft  of  light.     He  could  not 

see   an   inch   beyond   her.     Madeira's   voice   rang 

down  the  garden  walk.     Steering  did  not  hear  it. 

[115] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Salome !     Salome !  "  he  murmured,  "  Is  that  it, 
Salome?" 

"  Yes,  that's  it,  Salome.  Isn't  it  foolish?  The 
Di  down  there  is  the  Diaphanous,  too.  Some 
pioneer  poet  named  it  for  its  shimmer,  but  what 
good  did  it  do?  Missouri  promptly  called  it  the 
*  Di.'  No  more  good  is  it  to  name  a  child  Salome 
in  the  backwoods  of  Missouri.  She's  bound  to 
grow  up  Sally.  I've  always  been  Sally,  except  at 
school.  I'll  always  be  Sally  down  here  with  my 
own  people." 

"  No,  you  won't  always  be  Sally — no  you  won't 
always  be  down  here  with  your  own  people 
either," — he  leaned  back  on  the  bench  and  watched 
her,  his  eyes  half  shut,  his  whole  sense  of  being 
illumined  by  her,  his  tongue  playing  audaciously 
with  his  discretion. 

"Yes,  I  shall  always  be  Sally,  too."  That  bisque- 
warm  skin  of  hers  flushed  wondrously  and  she 
seemed  to  talk  out  of  a  little  confused  audacity  of 
her  own.  Madeira's  voice  rang  down  the  walk 
again.  "  Yes,  Father ! — and  down  here  with  my 
own  people,  too.  Yes,  Father  1 " 

"  Company's  here,  Sally." 
[116] 


THE    GARDEN    OF    DREAMS 

"  All  right,  Father,  coming." 

"  And  I  have  to  go?  "  asked  Steering  piteously. 

"  Oh  no,  come  up  to  the  house  and  meet  our 
sixteen-to-one  congressman,  Quicksilver  Sam." 

"  No — I'll  go,"  chose  Steering.  "  Say,  can't  I 
get  through  from  the  garden  here,  and  go  down  the 
river  road?  " 

"  Yes,  you  can.  Samson  shall  bring  your  horse 
around,  if  you  like.  There's  a  bridle-path  down  to 
the  river ;  it's  Piney's  way." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  have  the 
horse  brought,  I'll  take  Piney's  path.  I'm  going 
to  the  hills  to  try  to  find  Piney  and  Uncle  Bernique. 
Think  I'll  sleep  in  the  hills  with  them  to-night.  I 
feel  so  sad.  When  may  I  come  back  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  the  trouble  crept  into  her  voice 
again,  misty,  tremulous — "  you  see,  I  may  go 
away." 

"  Oh !  "  he  cried,  and  then  again,  "  Oh ! "  a  bitter 
wailing  note. 

"  Yes,  I  may,"  she  said  hastily.  "  You  see, 
your  friend,  Miss  Gossamer,  wants  me  to  join  her 
in  Europe.  She  is  very  insistent  about  it." 

"  And  you  may  go  ?  " 

[117] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  And  I  may  go." 

He  knew  that  she  said  that  she  would  see  him 
again  before  going,  if  it  came  to  pass  that  she 
decided  to  go,  and  that  she  pressed  his  hand,  with 
the  grateful  look  that  she  had  bestowed  upon  him 
when  she  had  tried  to  thank  him  for  holding  on  to 
her  father  in  the  Joplin  mine ;  and  that  afterwards 
she  stole  away  through  the  garden,  and  a  negro 
man-servant  brought  his  horse  around  to  the  rear 
grounds  and  showed  him  a  bridle-path  to  the  river ; 
but  these  things  were  hazy.  The  vivid  thing  was 
an  imprecation  that  by  and  by  took  awful  form, 
like  a  monster  of  the  mist,  hissingly,  from  between 
his  clenched  teeth : 

"  Damn  Miss — Europe!  " 


[118] 


Chapter  Eight 

WHEN    A    GIRL    FINDS     HERSELF 

SALLY  MADEIRA  went  to  her  own  room 
early  that  Sunday  night.  It  was  a  large 
room,  sheer  and  white,  with  its  wall  space 
broken  here  and  there  by  cool,  calm  etchings,  cows 
knee-deep  in  clover,  sunsets  on  small  rivers,  old 
windmills,  wheat  fields  in  harvest,  hills  where  the 
snow  lay  thick.  When  she  had  lit  her  lamp  a  rosy 
light  suffused  the  room  through  the  tinted  globe. 
The  pictures  on  the  walls  looked  so  tonefully  ten 
der,  intimate,  in  the  soft  glow,  that  the  girl,  notic 
ing  them  for  the  thousandth  time,  moved  from  one 
to  another,  admiring  and  loving  them.  They  were, 
in  a  way,  sign-posts  of  her  development.  She  had 
begun  to  buy  them  when  she  had  stopped  working 
in  colour  with  a  man  who  had  a  famous  studio  in 
New  York.  One  day  she  had  gone  with  the  man 
to  an  exhibition  of  oil  paintings  which  were  infused 
with  a  matchless  poetry  of  colour. 

"  If  I  paint  all  my  life  am  I  ever  going  to  be 
[119] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

able  to  paint  like  that  ?  "  she  had  asked  of  the  man 
earnestly. 

"  No,  my  child,  you  are  not,"  he  had  answered, 
quite  as  earnestly. 

"  I  wonder  why  I  should  try  to  do  something 
poorly  that  someone  else  can  do  so  well?  "  she  had 
mused. 

And  then,  because  she  had  talent,  and,  finest  of 
all,  an  exquisite  temperament  in  whose  pulses  the 
sense  of  colour  beat  in  veritable  tides  of  joy,  the 
man  from  the  studio  had  encouraged  her  with  warm 
words  of  praise.  "  You  will  some  day  paint  well 
enough  to  win  a  high  place,"  he  had  reminded  her. 

But  she  had  stayed  thoughtful,  and  a  day  or  two 
later  had  talked  to  him  again. 

"  I  don't  believe,  since  I  have  thought  it  all  out, 
that  I  can  get  what's  in  life  for  me  out  of  it  in  a 
high  place,"  she  had  said,  shy  but  eager.  Then, 
on  that  line,  she  had  forged  on  to  a  swift  and 
comprehensive  conclusion.  "  You  have  told  me," 
she  had  continued  to  the  studio  man,  "  that  what  I 
have  in  me  for  painting  is  not  the  real  thing,  and 
since  I  have  seen  the  real  thing  I  know  for  myself 

that  colour  is  too  rich  and  assertive,  too  apt  to  run 
[120] 


WHEN    A    GIRL    FINDS    HERSELF 

away  with  one,  for  any  but  master  hands  to  use  it. 
I  feel  that  I  don't  want  even  to  see  poor  colouring 
on  canvas  any  more.  I  shan't  ever  even  have  poor 
colour  pictures  around  me.  I  can  get  my  colour 
stories  outside.  Inside,  the  stories  shall  all  be  told 
in  light  and  shadow.  And  I  am  not  going  to  paint 
bad  pictures  myself  any  more." 

"  Ah,  but  the  work,  the  beautiful  work ! "  cried 
the  painter. 

"  Well,  as  for  me,  do  you  know,  I've  come  to 
believe  that  my  work  is  just  living — for  a  time 
anyhow." 

"  Well,  then,  the  fame !  "  cried  the  painter. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  care  for  the  fame." 

It  had  gone  much  like  that  with  her  music.  She 
had  a  fine  voice,  and  her  New  York  teacher  had 
told  her  over  and  over  that  she  "  must  go  on." 
She  had  been  pleased  with  his  praise  and  had 
worked  hard  for  a  time.  Then  she  had  gone  to 
him,  too,  one  day,  open-eyed  and  inquiring. 

"  Go  on  to  what?  "  she  had  asked. 

"  Why,  to  glory,"  the  singer  had  said. 

She  had  shaken  her  head,  unconvinced.    "  I  don't 

seem  to  care  for  the  glory,"  she  had  said.     And 
[121] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

beyond  learning  to  use  her  voice  well  she  would  not 
work  with  it.  "  It  is  not  that  I  am  lazy,"  she  had 
protested  to  the  singer,  "  but  I  couldn't  get  what's 
in  life  for  me  out  of  it  by  singing." 

"  What's  in  life  for  you?  "  queried  the  singer, 
interested,  for  the  girl  was  beautiful  and  rich  and 
aspirant. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  quite  know  yet,"  said  the  girl,  the 
pretty  pathos  of  youth  and  waiting  upon  her,  "  but 
some  day  I  shall  find  myself ;  then  I  shall  know." 

All  through  her  college  days  she  had  been  look 
ing  for  herself.  When  the  time  had  come  that  she 
had  gone  to  Elsie  Gossamer's  house  to  visit,  and 
there  had  met  men — college  boys  at  first  and  later 
on  men  of  a  larger  world — she  had  still  been  look 
ing  for  herself.  But  though  in  the  meantime  she 
had  learned  how  to  meet  men  and  how  to  treat  them 
— capably,  Elsie  Gossamer  said — she  had  not  found 
herself.  During  the  past  summer,  since  her  return 
from  college,  she  had  idled  on  here  through  a  little 
interim  with  her  father,  comfortable,  dreamy, 
waiting,  seeking.  But  she  had  not  found  her 
self. 

As  she  began  to  make  ready  for  bed  that  Sunday 
[122] 


WHEN  A  GIRL  FINDS  HERSELF 
night  she  had,  suddenly  and  subtly,  a  quiver  of 
consciousness  that  the  waiting  and  the  seeking  were 
nearly  over.  Just  how  she  knew  it  she  could  not 
have  told,  or  just  what  she  meant  by  knowing  it, 
or  just  what  would  happen  because  of  knowing  it. 
Moving  about  the  large  room  softly,  her  harmo 
nious  strength  and  grace  were  revealed  in  the  swing 
of  her  long  lithe  limbs,  the  reach  of  her  satiny 
brown  arms,  the  breadth  of  her  sweet  smooth  breast, 
the  straightness  and  firmness  of  her  tall  frame. 
Only  a  self-reliant  girl  could  have  moved  as  she 
moved,  a  girl  made  self-reliant  by  exuberant  health 
and  ideals  and  hope.  When  she  stopped  moving 
about  and  stood  before  her  mirror,  her  hand  on  the 
great  rope  of  shining  hair  that  hung  over  her 
shoulder,  her  body  assumed  a  rare  natural  poise, 
classically,  ancestrally  beautiful,  Grecian.  By 
and  by  she  roused  from  the  little  reverie  before 
the  mirror,  put  out  the  light,  and  came  over  to  the 
window. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  at  once,  "  that  was  what  was  the 
matter  with  me,  that  was  why  I  felt  that  something 
was  about  to  happen !  It  was  the  storm !  " 

Beyond  the  window  a  Missouri  tempest  was  ris- 
[123] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

ing.  The  girl,  responsive  as  a  reed  to  the  wind, 
sat  down  in  a  low  chair,  the  subtle  quiver  of  con 
sciousness  intensified  within  her,  and  watched  the 
lightning  that  began  to  play  over  the  hills,  and  the 
rain  that  began  to  beat  through  the  trees. 
Strangely  enough,  as  she  sat  there,  in  the  flashes 
she  could  see  little,  but  in  the  dark — a  warm,  wind 
blown,  sweet-smelling  dark — she  saw  several  things. 
For  one  thing,  she  saw  that,  most  probably,  she 
would  never  again  in  her  life  spend  an  evening  with 
a  sixteen-to-one  congressman.  It  had  been  a  very 
tiresome  evening.  For  another  thing,  she  saw  that 
she  was  not  going  to  Europe.  Her  father  needed 
her ;  or  if  he  didn't  he  ought  to.  For  a  third  thing, 
she  saw  that,  in  some  way,  she  was  going  to  have 
to  make  her  father  like  Bruce  Steering  again. 
Then  she  saw  the  fourth  thing.  There  had  not 
been  a  flash  for  some  minutes.  Seeing  that  fourth 
thing,  in  the  intense  dark,  she  gave  a  trembling 
sigh,  put  one  of  her  hands  on  top  of  the  other  on 
her  breast  and  pushed,  as  though  she  were  pushing 
her  heart  down.  Then  presently  the  pressure  of 
her  hands  relaxed,  her  head  dropped  down  until  her 

chin  touched  her  fingers,  and  a  great  flush  that  was 
[124] 


WHEN    A    GIRL   FINDS    HERSELF 
like    a    charge    from    something    electric    surged 
through  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  oh,  is  it  you !  Have  you 
come ! "  It  was  a  triumphant,  shy,  thrilling 
greeting  to  something,  something  that  she  had 
been  waiting  for,  born  for.  The  dark  grew  in- 
tenser,  sweeter,  warmer.  She  lifted  her  arms  and 
held  them  out  yearningly  toward  the  Tigmore  hills, 
half -leaning  out  the  window,  catching  the  rain  on 
her  eager  young  face,  in  her  shining  hair,  on  her 
broad  low  breast.  "  I  am  so  glad  of  it ! "  she 

panted,  in  a  singing  whisper,  "  I  am  so  glad " 

A  great  sheet  of  lightning  unrolled  across  the 
Tigmore  hills  and  held  steadily  magnificent  for  a 
moment,  revealing  everything  to  everybody,  so  it 
seemed  to  Sally  Madeira.  She  crept  into  bed  shak 
ing,  ecstatic,  afraid. 

Next  morning  she  made  her  toilet  away  from  the 
mirror  as  much  as  was  possible,  not  being  quite 
ready  to  face  her  whole  found  self  as  yet.  But 
before  she  went  downstairs  she  crossed  to  the  win 
dow  and  looked  out  at  the  tumbling  Tigmore  line, 
a  kissing  sigh  on  her  lips. 

When  she  reached  the  dining  room  she  found 
[125] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

that  Madeira  had  not  yet  come  down,  so  she  walked 
out  into  the  garden,  where  she  stood  for  a  little 
while  by  the  vine-covered  stump,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  little  straight  nose  in  the  air,  the  broad  day 
light  beating  down  on  her.  Then  presently  she 
opened  her  eyes  determinedly.  "  Yes,  I  can  stand 
it,"  she  said,  as  though  she  had  been  afraid  that 
she  couldn't,  and  looked  straight  up  into  the  rain 
of  light  over-head.  "  I  can  stand  it,  in  the  day 
time  as  in  the  dark,  from  now  on  forever." 

In  the  air  was  an  autumn  mellowness  that  had 
not  been  there  the  day  before.  It  nipped,  with  a 
strong,  winey  flavour,  as  it  went  down.  All 
around  her  lay  drifts  of  petals,  rain-beaten  roses, 
ragged  lilies.  The  storm  had  stolen  the  garden's 
glory.  "  To  put  it  into  my  heart !  "  cried  the  girl, 
in  her  all-conquering  joy.  "  Oh,  you  Garden  of 
Dreams,  you!  See,  my  eyes  are  wide  open,  and 
this,  this  is  better  than  dreams !  " 

She  went  back  to  the  house  with  her  arms  full  of 
the  very  last  roses.  "  For  now,  I  must  go  bring 
my  father  around,"  she  said. 

Madeira  had  had   a  bad  night.     He  had  not 

slept  at  all  as  far  as  he  could  tell.     For  hours  he 
[126] 


WHEN   A    GIRL    FINDS    HERSELF 

had  had  to  lie  on  his  bed  and  face  the  dark,  with 
Bruce  Grierson's  letter  under  his  pillow,  licking  out 
at  his  temples  like  a  tongue  of  flame.  But  he  had 
not  taken  the  letter  away  all  night  long.  "  Let 
it  burn,"  he  had  said.  "  Let  it  find  out  who's 
stronger,  me  or  it.  That's  my  way."  All  night 
long  he  had  made  plans,  with  his  face  set  toward 
the  dark.  When  he  got  to  the  dining  room  that 
morning  he  went  to  the  window  and  stood  there 
waiting  for  Sally,  revolving  one  of  the  night's 
plans  in  his  head,  deciding  with  how  much  force 
to  project  it,  how  to  hit  the  mark  patly  with  it. 
"  For  I  won't  have  him  here  at  my  house  again," 
Madeira  was  telling  himself  there  at  the  window. 
"  God !  I  can't  have  him  here."  He  caught  at 
the  vest  pocket  above  his  heart.  His  teeth  were 
chattering.  His  daughter,  with  the  roses  in  her 
arms,  entered  the  room  just  then. 

As  long  as  she  lived  Sally  Madeira  never  forgot 
the  way  the  dining  room  looked  that  morning,  as 
she  came  into  it  from  the  Garden  of  Dreams:  the 
dull  green  wall  spaces,  broken  by  some  of  her 
beloved  cool  etchings,  and  by  great  walnut  panels 

that  deepened  and  toned  and  strengthened  the  room 
[127] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

beautifully;  the  old  walnut  side-board  that  had 
been  her  mother's  mother's;  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  the  heavy  round  table,  unlaid,  snowy,  waiting 
for  her  effective  interference;  Madeira,  her  big 
handsome  father,  idling  by  the  window,  his  fine 
physical  maturity  cut  out  strongly  against  the 
light,  his  deep  chest,  his  great  height,  his  wide, 
well-featured  face,  his  good  clothes,  the  adaptabil 
ity  with  which  he  wore  them;  and  on  beyond 
Madeira,  outside  the  window,  the  satin  green  foli 
age  of  the  pet  magnolia  tree.  It  was  all  finely 
satisfying.  She  had  tried  her  hardest  to  kiss  the 
foolish  gladness  out  of  her  eyes  and  voice  into  the 
roses  in  her  hands,  but  things  grew  so  increasingly 
pleasant  that  all  her  endeavour  went  for  nothing. 
As  soon  as  her  father  saw  her  and  heard  her,  he 
said: 

"  Well,  Honey-love,  are  you  as  happy  as  that?  " 
She  put  her  roses  into  an  old  blue  bowl  and  went 
over  to  him,  and  he  sat  down  in  one  of  the  big 
chairs  by  the  window  and  drew  her  to  his  knee. 
Then  they  fell  into  a  caressing  habit  of  theirs,  he 
with  both  arms  about  her  body,  she  with  both  arms 

about  his  neck,  half -choking  him  with  tenderness, 
[128] 


WHEN    A    GIRL   FINDS    HERSELF 
rumpling  his  thick  hair  with  the  tip  of  her  chin. 
She  looked  as  much  mother  as  child  like  that. 

"  What  a  big  girl  you  are,  Pet !  " 

"  I  have  a  big  excuse  for  it,  Dad." 

"  But  your  mother,  now,  was  little,  Sally.  My, 
yes,  reckon  that  was  why  I  loved  her  so.  Such  a 
little,  little  thing !  " 

"  And  I'm  so  big — '  reckon '  that's  why  you 
love  me  so,  huh?  " 

"  Reckon,"  he  said.  They  sat  on  for  a  moment 
silent,  looking  out  of  the  window.  There  was  a 
lost  cardinal  whisking  among  the  satin  leaves  of  the 
pet  magnolia,  gazing  wistfully  at  an  old  nest  that 
swung  in  the  branches  like  the  ragged  ghost  of  a 
summer's  completeness  and  happiness.  The  nest 
seemed  to  arouse  memories  and  hopes  in  the  car 
dinal's  breast.  He  had  to  flirt  about  it  nervously 
for  some  minutes  before  he  could  satisfy  himself 
that  his  housekeeping  notions  were  unseasonable. 
Finally  he  perched  himself  on  an  humble  syringa 
bush  and  stared  at  the  nest,  quiet,  depressed. 

"  Are  you  betting  on  the  magnolia  tree  with  any 
body  this  winter?  "  she  asked,  her  eyes,  too,  on  the 

high  nest. 

[129] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"No  one  left  to  bet  with,  Pet.  Everybody 
knows  now  that  it  can  live  through  the  worst  that 
can  come  to  it.  Le's  see,  it's  twenty  years  since  I 
planted  it  there,  and  I've  won  twenty  jack-knives 
betting  that  it  would  live,  twenty  different  winters. 
Twenty  years !  Sally,  that's  a  good  while,  my 
honey.  Why,  twenty  years  ago  you  didn't  come 
knee-high  to  a  puddle-duck.  We  had  just  moved 
down  here  from  St.  Louis,  your  mother  and  I, 
twenty  years  ago." 

As  he  talked,  the  moment  shaped  itself  for 
Madeira  as  a  little  negligible  interim,  wedged  in 
between  the  restless  night,  with  its  defined  pur 
poses,  and  the  next  hour,  when  he  should  have 
consummated  at  least  one  of  the  night's  pur 
poses. 

"  That  mother  of  'yours  was  a  lovely  little  thing, 
Sally." 

The  girl  was  sure  of  it.  She  had  felt  the  loveli 
ness  of  her  mother  all  her  life.  Once  she  had  gone 
to  her  mother's  old  Kentucky  home,  and  though  her 
mother's  people  were  all  dead  long  ago,  the  great 
Kentucky  house  was  still  there,  and,  standing 

before  it,  she  had  been  almost  able  to  see  the  aura 
[130] 


WHEN    A    GIRL    FINDS    HERSELF 
of  influence  that  it  had  been  in  the  moulding  of  the 
loveliness  of  her  mother,  the  southern  girl,  lifting 
from  it  to  ensphere  her,  the  western  girl. 

"  I  know  she  was  lovely,"  said  Sally. 

"  Oh  my,  yes, — just  about  at  her  loveliest 
twenty  years  ago.  But  as  for  twenty  years,  Sally, 
why,  I  can  go  a  lot  farther  back  than  that.  I  can 
go  back  forty  years,  close  to  my  beginning. 
This  is  all  sort  of  different  from  my  beginning, 
Sally."  Out  beyond  the  window,  into  the  Septem 
ber  sunshine,  rolled  the  fat  corn  lands,  hundreds 
upon  hundreds  of  acres,  the  wheat  flats,  the  miles  of 
cattle  range  of  Madeira  Place.  Around  them  shut 
the  strong  walls  of  the  old  Peele  house,  a  memorable 
house  in  its  way,  massive  and  wide-porched  and 
staunch. 

"  You  can  hardly  imagine  anything  more  dif 
ferent  from  this  than  was  my  beginning,"  went  on 
Madeira.  "  This  is  pretty  luxurious,  isn't  it  ?  In 
its  way,  though  it  is  down  here  on  the  Di,  it's  just 
about  as  good  for  a  country  house  as  the  places 
you  saw  on  the  Hudson,  aint  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  has  a  lot  more  soul  and  story  than  the 

Hudson  places,"  she  acquiesced  at  once.     Somc- 
[131] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

times  she  could  feel  that  desire  of  his  to  give  her  as 
good  as  the  best  palpitate  like  a  pulse  through  his 
words. 

"Well,  anyhow,  Lord  knows  it's  mighty  different 
from  what  I  began  with,  Sally.  Why,  Honey,  in 
my  boy-days  living  on  a  farm  in  Missouri  was 
mighty  much  like  living  on  the  fringes  of  hellen- 
blazes.  Br-r-rt ! "  He  clamped  and  undamped 
his  big  hand,  watching  the  strong  muscle-play  in 
it.  "  I  can  feel  my  fingers  burn  to  this  day  where 
the  frozen  fodder  sawed  and  rasped  'em  in  winter 
and  the  hot  plough-handles  bit  and  blistered  'em  in 
summer.  And  then,  afterwards,  those  old  St. 
Louis  days  meant  hard  pulling,  too,  of  another 
kind.  From  grocery  clerk,  to  dry-goods  clerk,  to 
old  Peele's  real  estate  office,  it  was  pull,  pull,  if  not 
over  one  thing,  over  another.  Takes  a  thundering 
lot  of  pulling  to  pull  out  in  this  world,  Sally." 
All  in  a  minute  his  voice  sounded  perplexed  and 
resentful. 

"  Well,  you  did  it,  didn't  you?  You  pulled  out. 
I'm  proud  of  you.  I  like  the  way  you  did  it." 

"  Do  you,  Pet?     Do  you  like  me?  "  he  queried 

with  a  peculiar  anxiety. 

[132] 


WHEN    A    GIRL   FINDS    HERSELF 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do." 

Black  Chloe,  who  had  been  making  slow  trips 
between  kitchen  and  dining-room  for  some  minutes, 
stopped  now  to  say,  in  a  sort  of  Arabian  Nights 
measure,  "  Ef  you  raddy  fuh  yo'  brekfus,  yo' 
brekfus  raddy  fuh  you." 

"  Better  than  anybody?  "  pursued  Madeira,  but 
his  daughter  was  drawing  him  to  the  table,  and  he 
did  not  notice  that  her  only  answer  was  a  quivering 
laugh. 

They  sat  down  to  a  breakfast-table  whose  de 
lightful  appearance  was  due  to  that  sense  of  colour 
in  Sally  Madeira's  temperament.  Both  ate  some 
fruit,  because  it  was  juicy  and  went  down  easily, 
and  both  looked  at  their  coffee-cups. 

"  Why  don't  you  eat  your  breakfast,  Daddy  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you?  "  Perhaps  if  he  had  waited 
for  her  to  tell  him,  her  gladness  would  have  sent 
her  story  bubbling  to  her  lips,  but  he  did  not 
wait.  I'm  bothered,  Honey,  that's  why  I  can't 
eat." 

"  What's  the  bother,  Dad?  " 

Madeira,  considering  that  this  was  his  op 
portunity,  closed  in  determinedly,  with  that 
[133] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

iron  grip  of  his.  "  It's  that  man  Steering, 
Honey." 

"  Taken  a  foolish  old  dislike  to  him,  haven't  you, 
Dad  ?  "  She  was  ready  for  him,  eager  to  get  her 
case  before  him,  to  make  her  points  quickly  and 
surely. 

"  Foolish,"  Madeira  gasped  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  vest  pocket.  "  Sally,  girl,  it's  a  matter  of 
life  and  death,  I  take  it."  He  rose  from  his  chair, 
his  face  grey.  Staggering  a  little  to  the  left,  he 
moved  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  on  the  Garden  of  Dreams. 
Behind  him  the  girl  sat  on  quietly.  She  had  put 
one  hand  to  her  chin,  so  that  her  face  was  up- 
tilted.  The  light  from  the  window  was  strong 
on  it. 

"  Sally,"  began  Madeira  again,  "  I've  never 
asked  very  much  of  you,  have  I?  Always  let  you 
do  as  you  please,  haven't  I  ?  And  it's  too  late  now 
to  try  to  force  you  to  do  anything,  isn't  it?  Be 
sides,  I  wouldn't  do  it  anyway.  I  wouldn't  like 
it  that  way.  But  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do 
something  for  me.  Then  I'm  going  to  leave  the 

doing  wholly  to  you.     I'm  going  to  ask  you  to 
[134] 


WHEN  A  GIRL  FINDS  HERSELF 
drop  that  man  Steering.  I  thought  it  all  out  last 
night,  Sally.  I  know  that  he  and  I  are  going  to 
mix  up  if  he  doesn't  keep  well  out  of  my  sight. 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  drop  him,  for  my  sake, 
Pet." 

He  came  back  toward  her,  and  again  he  half 
reeled  as  he  started.  With  one  hand  on  her  shoul 
der,  he  looked  down  at  her.  By  now  she  was 
staring  unseeingly  at  the  bird  that  stared  at  the 
nest  in  the  magnolia  tree.  "  Are  you  going  to  do 
what  I  want,  Honey?"  His  hand  shook  on  her 
shoulder  and  when  she  turned  to  look  up  at  him 
the  ashen  hue  of  his  face  frightened  her.  She 
nestled  her  cheek  into  his  hand.  "  It's  the  God's 
truth  I'm  telling  you,  Sally,"  went  on  Madeira, 
"  it's  life  or  death,  I  think.  I've  got  to  get  rid  of 
Steering — I — I — oh,  I  hate  him  so." 

"  And  you  won't  tell  me  why,  Daddy  ?  " 

"  And  I  won't — I  can't — there's  reason  enough, 
Sally,  that's  all  I  can  say.  Can't  you  let  it  go  at 
that,  and  help  me  out?  " 

"  Yes,  Dad,  yes,"  she  said.  "  You've  done  such  a 
lot  for  me,  you've  helped  me  out — it — be — a  pity," 

— her  voice  went  astray  in  her  throat,  and  in  the 
[135] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

strong  light  Madeira  saw  a  wild  pain  on  her  up 
turned  face — "  pity  if  I  couldn't  do  anything  you 
ask  me  to — wouldn't  it  ?  "  She  got  up  suddenly 
and  ran  to  the  door. 

"  Sally !  "  he  called,  "  Sally,  you  don't  mean— 
you  don't — it  isn't  that  " — but  she  was  gone. 


Chapter  Nine 
GOOD-BYE  ! 

MADEIRA  went  off  in  the  buckboard 
late  that  morning,  and,  having  left 
word  with  black  Chloe  that  he  might 
have  dinner  at  the  Canaan  Hotel,  did  not  come 
home  at  all  at  noon. 

His  daughter  stayed  in  her  room  all  morning,  and 
far  past  her  lunch  hour.  About  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  she  got  up  from  the  bed  where  she  had 
been  lying  and  sat  by  the  window  that  looked  out 
across  the  Tigmores.  Her  father's  face,  in  its 
frame  of  entreaty,  trouble,  unrest,  hung  between 
her  and  the  hills,  so  that,  for  a  time,  she  saw  noth 
ing  but  Madeira.  Little  by  little,  however,  the 
hills  themselves  became  insistent.  They  were  very 
beautiful,  a  long,  massed  glory  of  colour,  red  and 
gold  and  green,  all  looped  about  by  the  silver  cord 
of  the  Di.  As  the  girl  watched,  a  lone  horseman 

came  out  of  one  of  the  wooded  knobs  and  galloped 
[137] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

down  the  ridge  road  toward  Canaan.  She  could 
see  him  plainly,  his  breadth  of  shoulders,  his  high- 
headedness,  his  good  horsemanship.  She  got  up 
quickly,  swaying  toward  the  window,  her  hands 
over  her  heart,  with  the  strange  little  pushing 
gesture,  as  though  she  must  push  her  heart  down. 
The  horseman  went  on  down  the  road  toward 
Canaan. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  girl  presently,  pleadingly,  "  if 
I  may  see  him  just  once  again!  If  I  just  don't 
have  to  lose  him  all  at  once !  "  She  ran  then  across 
the  room  to  another  window,  through  which  she 
whistled  shrilly  at  the  negro  man  dozing  in  the  suc 
culent  grass  in  front  of  the  stable. 

"  Samson !  "  she  shouted,  "  saddle  Ribbon  the 
quickest  you  ever  did  in  your  life !  "  And  when 
she  saw  that  the  negro  had  roused  sufficiently  to 
execute  her  commands,  she  turned  from  the  window 
hurriedly,  went  to  her  clothes-closet  hurriedly, 
changed  her  house  gown  for  a  riding-habit  hur 
riedly,  and  was  out  in  the  yard  at  the  mounting 
block  as  the  saddle  mare  was  led  up  from  the  stable. 
Taking  the  bridle  from  the  negro's  hand,  she 

leaped  into  the  saddle  and  was  off  across  the  yard 
[138] 


GOOD-BYE! 

like  a  flash,  while  the  lip  of  the  astonished  Samson 
sagged  with  impotent  inquiry. 

Out  on  the  ridge  road,  she  urged  the  mare  to  a 
gallop.  All  the  way  she  was  talking  to  Madeira, 
almost  praying  to  him.  His  face  with  its  trouble 
and  pain  still  moved  before  her.  "  Ah,  but  you 
will  forgive  me !  "  she  was  saying  to  it.  "  You  wait. 
Wait  and  see  how  this  ride  turns  out.  I'm  going 
to  give  myself  just  one  chance,  Dad.  I'm 
going  to  find  him,  and  I'm  going  riding  with 
him.  And  I'm  not  going  to  say  anything.  But  I 
look  nice,  don't  I,  when  I'm  riding — and  loving — 
and  hoping — and  maybe  he  can't  stand  it,  and  if 
he  can't  stand  it,  and  rides  up  close,  and  stops  his 
horse  and  tells  me — oh,  what  I  hope  he  will  tell 
me — why,  Daddy,  dear,  I  must  lean  over  into  his 
arms  for  just  one  minute,  mustn't  I?  You  see  that, 
don't  you  ?  And  maybe  after  that,  everything  will 
be  all  right,  and  we  can  all  be  happy  ever  after.  I 
don't  see  how  we  could  help  being  happy  ever  after 
that,  Dad ! " 

And,  praying  so,  on  the  galloping  mare,  Sally 
Madeira  came  into  the  main  street  of  Canaan,  and 

drew  rein  at  last  in  front  of  her  father's  bank. 
[139] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

Madeira  saw  her  at  once  and  hurried  out  to 
her. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  a  little  last  ride  with  Mr. 
Steering,  Dad,"  she  said,  her  head  as  high  as  a 
queen's  and  her  voice  strong  and  sweet.  "  I 
didn't  want  you  to  think  that  I  was  deceiving  you. 
I  wanted  you  to  know  about  it  before  I  did  it." 
Often  there  was  a  good  deal  of  the  child  in  Sally's 
straight  gaze,  and  Madeira  saw  it  there  now  and 
loved  it. 

"  You  do  just  exactly  whatever  you  want  to, 

Honeyful,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know— I "  He 

could  not  go  on  at  all  for  a  minute,  and  when  he 
could  go  on  he  said  abruptly,  "  I'm  going  to  see 
Steering,  too,  before  I  quite  bust  up  with  him, 
Sally."  Then  he  went  quickly  back  to  the  bank, 
and  the  girl  passed  on  down  the  street  to  the  post- 
office,  in  front  of  which  she  saw  Steering's  horse 
at  the  hitching-rail.  She  sent  a  bare-footed  boy 
inside  to  post  a  letter  to  Elsie  Gossamer  and  to  ask 
Mr.  Steering  to  come  out  to  her. 

While  she  waited,  she  could  see  Steering  at 
the  pen-and-ink  desk,  loitering  there,  one  arm 

on  the  desk,  watching  the  thin  stream  of   peo- 
[140] 


GOOD-BYE! 

pie  that  went  by  him  to  the  convex  glass-and- 
pine  booth  where  the  post-office  boxes  were.  The 
men  from  the  Canaan  stores,  a  lonely  drum 
mer  from  the  hotel,  some  belated  farmers 
and  several  Canaan  young  ladies  passed  Steer 
ing,  the  young  ladies  seeming  not  to  see  him, 
but,  in  some  subtly  feminine  way,  making  it  im 
possible  for  Steering  not  to  see  them — their  glow 
ing  young  faces,  their  enormous  hats,  the  way  their 
gowns  didn't  fit,  the  slip-shod  carriage  of  their 
bodies,  all  the  differences  between  them  and  the 
only  other  real  western  girl  he  knew.  None  of  the 
people  went  out  of  the  post-office  at  once,  all  idling 
at  the  door  for  a  few  minutes.  From  time  to  time 
there  was  quite  a  little  crush  at  the  door,  so  that 
Steering  did  not  see  Miss  Madeira  until  her  mes 
senger  reached  him.  Then  he  ran  out  to  her 
quickly. 

"  I  shan't  get  down,"  she  told  him,  speaking  in  a 
lower  tone  than  the  listening  Canaanites  approved 
of.  "  I  was  hoping  that  I  might  find  you  here. 
Get  on  your  horse  and  let's  go  to  the  woods. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to?  The  hills  are  one  long 
glory  to-day."  It  was  not  the  note  of  her  prayer, 
[HI] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

it  was  well-ordered  and  calm.  Still,  Steering's 
heart  leaped  like  a  boy's  at  her  friendliness,  and  he 
began  to  speak  his  gratitude  in  a  lyric  tune : 

"  Ah,  what  fortune !  Just  to  be  young  and  alive 
and  off  on  the  hills  with  you !  "  he  said,  and  vaulted 
to  his  horse's  back  from  the  curb,  so  easily  that  even 
the  Missourians  who  were  candidly  watching  and 
listening,  remarked,  "  Oh,  well,  it's  because  he's 
got  some  Missouri  in  him,  that's  why-for." 

Side  by  side,  the  horses  moved  down  Main  Street. 
At  the  bank  Crittenton  Madeira  was  standing  at 
the  plate-glass  window.  He  had  his  thumbs  in  his 
trousers  pockets,  and  he  was  rocking  to  and  fro, 
shifting  his  weight  from  his  heels  to  the  balls  of  his 
feet  peculiarly,  as  though  seeking  for  balance. 
His  eyes  were  moodily  thoughtful,  and  he  kept 
snapping  at  his  lower  lip  with  his  big  white  teeth. 

"  Why,  God  bless  you,  Steering !  "  he  cried 
pleasantly,  moving  out  to  the  curb  as  the  horses 
came  up,  "  I  made  a  mistake  in  missing  you  at  the 
house  yesterday.  Want  to  see  you  again,  as  soon 
as  I  can.  What  about  to-night,  young  man? 
Going  to  get  in  home  early,  aren't  you,  Sally?  " 

"  Yes,  Dad,  early." 

[142] 


GOOD-BYE! 

"  Well  then,  my  boy,  you  just  stop  by  the  bank, 
when  you  get  in  from  the  hills,  will  you?  I  shan't 
leave  the  bank  before  eight  o'clock.  Shan't  be 
home  to  supper,  Honeyful." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Madeira,  I'll  come,"  assented 
Steering ;  "  look  for  me  sometime  before  eight." 

"  All  right,  my  boy.     So  long,  Honeyful." 

Again  the  horses  moved  off,  side  by  side.  Soon 
the  town  lay  far  behind  the  riders,  who  were  follow 
ing  the  shimmering  Di  around  the  blue  hills. 
Where  the  road  ran  up  the  bluff  into  heavy  timber 
they  got  into  deep  odorous  silences,  the  silences  of 
young  unspoiled  places ;  musical,  too,  somehow, 
over  and  be}^ond  the  stillness.  Where  the  road 
came  down  to  the  bottom  land  along  the  river  the 
silence  shook  with  the  river's  silver  mystery.  No 
matter  where  the  road  ran,  always  off  beyond 
them  lay  the  hills,  ridge  upon  ridge,  beautiful, 
glorious. 

"  Aren't  they  tremendous  ? "  said  the  girl, 
"  Aren't  you  glad  they  are  almost  yours  ?  "  A 
sense  of  possession  was  indeed  mounting  into  a  cry 
of  rejoicing  within  Steering.  He  admitted  it  and 
then  laughed  at  it. 

[143] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

"  It's  the  house  of  Grierson  that  should  rejoice," 
he  said  longingly. 

"  Wait  until  I  bring  you  out  above  Salome 
Park,"  said  the  girl.  "  I,  too,  have  some  land  up 
here  that's  worth  while.  From  my  land  you  can 
look  straight  across  the  country  for  miles,  back 
again  into  your  land." 

Sometimes,  as  they  journeyed,  they  passed  log 
cabins  backed  up  against  the  long  hills,  or  squat 
ting  close  to  the  shining  river.  Sometimes,  as 
they  journeyed,  the  red  bluffs  beetled  up  above 
them,  tall  and  frowning.  Sometimes  the  trees, 
trailing  long  green  veils,  all  but  met  across  the  Di 
below  them.  Once  they  passed  a  saw-mill,  set  and 
buzzing;  once  they  had  to  wait  in  the  woods  while 
a  string  of  cattle  stampeded  by;  once  they  saw  a 
man  in  a  skiff  far  down  the  Di.  He  raised  his 
hand  and  waved  to  them  for  loneliness'  sake.  He 
looked  sick  with  loneliness. 

"  You  know  your  Missouri  by  heart,"  Steering 
commented  admiringly,  as  she  led  him  through 
bridle-paths  and  by  short  cuts  with  a  fine  woods- 
manship. 

"  Well,  I  ought  to.    The  times  that  I  have  been 
[144] 


GOOD-BYE! 

over  it,  with  Piney,  a  ragged  Robin-goodfellow  at 
my  heels!  This  is  the  apple-jack  country  that  we 
are  in  now.  Did  you  know  that?  Apple-jack 
stands  for  our  big  red  apples  and  for  zinc.  There's 
some  of  both  down  here,  see !  "  She  stopped  him 
on  a  high  spur  in  the  ridge  road  and  waved  her 
riding  whip  toward  the  flats  below,  whose  miles 
upon  miles  of  apple  trees  made  him  wonder.  "  But 
wait  for  Salome  Park,"  she  insisted,  and  led  him  on. 
Riding  along  beside  her,  listening  to  her,  forget 
ful  of  his  complications,  his  hills  billowing  toward 
him,  Steering  grew  intensely  happy.  Just  to  look 
at  her  was  enough  to  make  a  man  happy.  Her 
black,  semi-fitting  riding-habit  outlined  her  graces 
of  form  enchantingly,  the  admirable  litheness  of 
her  broad  deep  chest,  her  firmly-knit  back.  In  her 
vigour  of  well-shaped  bone  and  sinew  and  muscle 
she  constantly  emphasised  the  unpoetic  nuisance  of 
superfluous  flesh.  Beneath  her  little  black  hat  her 
burnished  hair  lay  coiled  in  soft  smooth  masses  low 
on  her  neck.  The  wonderful  vitality  that  beat 
through  her  veins  brought  the  red  colour  to  her 
cheeks  in  delicate  waves.  In  her  sunny  amber  eyes 
the  high  lights  danced  far  back,  dazzlingly. 
[145] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Now,"  she  cried  at  last,  "  one  more  climb,  and 
here  we  are  at  the  summit !  Fine,  isn't  it  ?  That's 
Salome  Park,  all  of  it,  as  far  as  you  can  see,  until 
you  see  the  Tigmores  curving  around  way  off 
yonder  to  the  west  again.  Ah,  yes,  I  thought  you 
would  like  it!" 

From  the  summit  of  the  Tigmore  Ridge,  on 
which  they  had  stopped,  there  spread  out  an  end 
less  stretch  of  country,  with  small  cleared  spaces 
where  the  wheat  and  corn  could  grow,  and  with 
trout  glens  gleaming  here  and  there  through  the 
trees,  and  with  bosky  places  and  woodsy  places  in 
between. 

"  Oh,  it's  wonderful,"  said  Steering. 

"  This  is  the  best  view  in  the  Tigmores,"  said 
the  girl.  "  From  here  you  can  imagine  that  you 
see  the  Boston  Mountains  on  a  clear  day.  And 
away  off  down  there  run  the  Kiamichi — you  will 
have  to  take  my  word  for  it,  you  can't  see  them. 
Cowskin  Prairie,  where  the  three  States  and  the 
Territory  come  together,  is  off  that  way,  too." 

The  big  Missouri  loneliness  hung  over  it   all, 
shutting  them  in,  shutting  the  world  out.    "  Psha ! 
there    isn't    any    world    outside,"    said    Steering, 
[140] 


GOOD-BYE! 

and  drew  his  horse  nearer  to  hers.  "  There 
isn't  any  world  outside.  This  is  all  there  is  to  it, 
and  just  you  and  I  in  it.  Don't  you  believe 
me?  " 

"  We  will  play  that's  the  way  of  it,"  she  said,  the 
spell  of  the  land  upon  her,  too,  the  spell  of  the 
day  upon  her,  her  own  heart's  red  spell  upon 
her. 

"  Oh,  me !  Oh,  me !  "  He  brought  his  horse  up 
closer,  his  eyes  finding  hers,  and  pleading  with 
them. 

"  Well?  "  she  cried,  "  well?  "  a  wavering,  wait 
ing  smile  on  her  lips.  Even  like  that,  even  leaning 
toward  him  she  had  a  splendid  self -trust;  she  was 
confidential,  but  a  little  remote. 

Suddenly  the  man  beside  her  clamped  his  jaws 
together  harshly  and  held  his  tongue  imprisoned 
behind  his  teeth.  His  chest  lifted  and  shook  as  he 
sucked  down  a  deep  breath.  There,  near  her, 
the  glory  of  the  hills  outrolled  before  him,  the  keen 
snap  of  the  elixir  of  love,  the  deathless,  in  his  blood, 
life  seemed  hard,  brutally  hard.  Everything  was 
hard,  and  wrong.  He  had  come  down  here  for 

practical   purposes,  he  had   come   needing   every 
[147] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

ounce  of  his  energies  for  those  purposes,  yet,  day 
by  day,  and  minute  by  minute,  he  was  being  con 
fronted  by  psychic  or  moral  crises,  of  one  kind  and 
another,  that  used  up  all  the  force  in  him.  Here 
and  now  the  demand  upon  him  was  terrific.  His 
love  for  Sally  Madeira  had  grown  upon  him  daily, 
hourly,  engaging  all  that  was  best  in  him,  pulling 
him  away  beyond  his  old  best,  inspiring,  and  re 
making  him.  To  have  to  fight  it,  even  for  her  sake, 
even  because  he  must  protect  her  from  so  hard  a 
fate  as  fate  with  him  promised  to  be,  was  like 
sacrilege.  The  force  of  his  self-conflict  took  all 
the  colour  from  his  lips,  all  the  light  from  his  eyes. 
"  My  God !  My  God ! "  he  cried,  a  short,  sharp 
cry,  that  beat  up  the  Tigmores  and  broke  and 
splintered  into  the  big  loneliness  futilely.  Then  he 
jerked  his  horse  about  abruptly.  "  We  must  go 
back  now,"  he  said. 

But  the  girl,  who  had  been  watching,  turned  her 
eyes  from  him  and  held  her  horse  still  for  a  short 
moment.  The  glory  of  the  hills  came  on  across 
the  wide  park  to  her  and  enfolded  her,  met  in  kind 
by  the  radiance  of  her  wonderful  hair,  her  sunny 
eyes,  her  glowing  skin.  The  joy  of  the  night  be- 

[148] 


GOOD-BYE! 

fore,  the  morning's  passionate  grief,  the  ingenuous 
hope  and  prayer  in  her  ride  after  Steering,  the 
sweet,  anxious  torture  of  the  journey  to  Salome 
Park  were  all  giving  place  to  a  large,  impersonal 
comprehension  of  the  conflict  in  Steering's  soul. 
She  had  known  before  that  there  was  trouble  brew 
ing  between  him  and  her  father.  She  knew  now, 
past  all  doubting,  that  he  loved  her,  knew  it  from 
his  face,  his  voice.  And  even  while  her  heart  filled 
and  quivered  with  knowing  it,  some  higher  power 
of  divination  made  her  know,  too,  that  he  was 
caught  between  his  love  of  her  and  his  difficulty 
with  her  father  in  an  inexplicable,  soul-shaking 
way. 

When  Steering,  a  few  feet  below  her,  turned  again 
towards  her,  she  looked  finer,  fairer,  more  im 
mortally  young  and  strong  than  he  had  ever  seen 
her  look.  She  rode  down  to  him  fearlessly  and 
put  her  hand  out.  "  Sometimes  the  thing  to  do  is 
just  to  stand  steady,"  she  said,  "  isn't  that  it?  " — 
bridging  all  the  unspoken  thought  and  feeling 
between  them,  understanding,  helping. 

He  clung  to  her  hand,  and  its  answering  pressure 
was  that  of  a  comrade's,  strong  and  reas- 
[149] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

suring.  "  Miss  Madeira,"  he  said,  at  last,  simply, 
"  things  are  so  bad  with  me  that  if  I  don't  stand 
steady  and  face  them  exactly  as  they  come,  not 
giving  in  an  inch  anywhere  along  the  line,  I  shan't 
be  able  to  stand  at  all." 

"  Ah,  but  you  will  stand  that  way — steady,"  she 
said,  and  drew  her  hand  from  his,  and  led  the  way 
homeward.  She  had  accepted  her  fate  to  wait  and 
endure  while  he  "  faced  things." 

They  went  back  into  the  sunset  together,  almost 
silent.  Far  and  wide  rolled  the  hills  in  their  flaunt 
ing  glory,  and,  now  and  again,  the  girl's  breath 
trembled  and  stung  her, — that  tidal  sense  of  colour 
leaping  and  rioting  within  her,  perhaps.  Now  and 
again  the  man's  jaws  set  together  more  firmly. 
When  they  talked  at  all  it  was  of  little  things. 

"  Why  didn't  I  ever  meet  you  at  Miss  Gossa 
mer's  ?  "  he  asked  once. 

"  You  were  in  Philadelphia  when  I  was  visiting 
Elsie,  that  was  why.  Neither  you  nor  Mr.  Caring- 
ton  were  in  New  York  that  month.  I  remember 
that  I  got  an  idea  that  Elsie  missed  Mr.  Carington, 
or  you,  or  both.  Mr.  Carington  was  in  love  with 

her.  wasn't  he?  " 

[150] 


GOOD-BYE! 

"  Yes,  he's  always  been  in  love  with  her,  I  think. 
— Do  you  like  the  East?  "  he  asked  again,  not 
caring  for  the  subject  of  Miss  Gossamer. 

"  To  get  an  education  in." 

"  You  are  well  educated,"  he  said,  as  though 
making  comparisons. 

In  that  matter  of  education,  her  selective  abili 
ties  had  been  indeed  good.  She  had  taken  from 
her  opportunities  developmental  elements  and  used 
them  within  herself  wisely.  She  had  fine  concep 
tions  of  art,  she  was  well-read ;  and  because  she  had 
foreseen  that  she  would  be  too  rich  to  have  any 
separate  use  for  the  things  of  art  and  learning,  she 
had  seized  upon  and  welded  all  her  inclinations  and 
accomplishments  into  an  harmonious,  delightful 
completeness  as  Woman.  In  the  result,  her  educa 
tion  seemed  to  be  one  of  the  especial  reasons  that 
you  liked  her. 

"  But  as  for  that,"  said  Steering,  speaking  his 
thought  aloud,  "  reasons  don't  count.  There  are 
plenty  of  reasons,  but  one  really  never  gets  at  the 
biggest  reason  of  all." 

"  You  hardly  expect  me  to  understand  that,"  she 

said,  laughing  frankly,  a  musical  laugh  that  had 
[151] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

in  it  the  shaking,  white  flash  of  a  rock-fluted  hill- 
stream. 

"  No,  no !  I  don't  expect  you  to  understand 
that,"  he  said. 

They  went  on  through  the  deep,  odorous  wood, 
down  close  to  the  river's  pale,  shallow  mystery 
again,  and  so  back  to  the  big  gate  at  Madeira 
Place.  There  at  the  gate  the  girl  put  out  her 
hand  to  him  again. 

"  Good-bye!  "  she  said  softly,  "  good-bye!  " 

As  he  bent  to  kiss  the  hand  his  breath  came  hard. 
"  It  is  not  good-bye,"  he  said.  "  It  shall  not  be.  I 
swear  it." 

Then  he  dashed  on  down  the  ridge  road  toward 
Canaan,  to  find  Crittenton  Madeira. 


[152] 


Chapter  Ten 

WHO'S    GOT    THE    TIGMORES? 

^  HAT  Monday  was  hard  on  Madeira.    It 

was  his  normal  mental  habit  to  come  to 
a  conclusion  instantly,  and  cut  a  way 
for  it  across  other  people's  ideas  and  notions  with 
the  impetus  and  onslaught  of  a  cannon-ball.  That 
Monday  his  mentality  was  below — or  above — nor 
mal.  He  kept  telling  himself  that  he  was  mixed. 
His  desire  to  crush  Steering,  pick  him  up  and 
crumple  him  and  thrust  him  aside,  stood  before 
him  constantly,  like  the  picture  of  the  physical 
thing.  Up  to  the  time  that  he  had  seen  his  daugh 
ter  run  out  of  the  dining-room  that  morning,  her 
face  averted,  the  desire  had  been  steadily  taking 
on  colour  and  size.  But,  with  the  girl's  brave 
broken  cry,  there  had  come  on  to  him  an 
intolerable  question.  For  a  long  time  he  would 
not  let  the  question  get  into  words,  or  in  any  way 
define  itself  within  his  brain.  Still,  all  morning 

long,  he  recognised  that  the  question  and  that  desire 
[153] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

of  his  to  crush  Steering  were  ranged  before  him  in 
some  sort  of  fierce  competitive  effort.  A  thousand 
times  he  wished  that  he  had  had  the  courage  to  ask 
Sally  candidly  just  what  she  had  meant,  just  where 
she  stood  with  regard  to  Steering,  but  he  knew  that 
he  could  never  have  asked  her.  Good  friends 
though  he  and  his  daughter  were,  there  was  be 
tween  them  the  definite  reserve  that  lies  between  all 
good  friends  in  the  sphere  of  the  big  things  of 
life.  He  could  not  have  asked  her,  and  she  could 
not  have  told  him  if  he  had  asked  her. 

He  fretted  through  a  busy  morning  in  a  terri 
ble  uncertainty.  When  Sally  had  come  by  the  bank 
to  tell  him  of  her  proposed  ride  with  Steering,  he 
had  watched  her  with  painful,  anxious  scrutiny. 
But  the  girl's  control  had  become  perfect  by  that 
hour,  and  Madeira  had  to  go  back  into  the  bank 
with  the  uncertainty  still  thickly  upon  him.  Paus 
ing  there  in  the  bank  at  the  plate-glass  window  for 
a  reflectful  moment,  he  came  to  a  swift  resolve.  He 
saw  that  he  could  not  afford  to  make  any  mistake. 
He  resolved  to  give  Steering  another  chance  to  get 
right  on  the  company  matter.  When  he  had  gone 
out  to  the  curb  to  make  an  appointment  for  the 
[154] 


WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES? 
evening  with  Steering,  he  had  told  himself  that  it 
was  because  the  boy  might  as  well  have  the  chance 
as  not  have  it,  and,  when  he  had  gone  back,  he 
had  known  that,  lie  to  himself  about  it  as  he  might, 
it  was  because  he  was  afraid  for  Sally  Madeira, 
afraid  that  this  Steering  was  about  to  mean  some 
thing  in  her  life,  afraid  that  he,  as  the  girl's  father, 
might  bring  some  unhappiness  upon  her. 

All  the  long  afternoon  the  thing  continued  to 
worry  him;  added  to  the  torment  he  was  suffer 
ing  from  the  burning  letter  in  his  vest-pocket,  it 
was  well-nigh  unendurable.  He  had  to  work  vehem 
ently  to  make  the  time  pass.  Toward  six  o'clock, 
he  began  to  realise  that  he  had  been  shaping  the 
time  toward  the  evening's  appointment  with  Steer 
ing.  As  he  got  it  shaped  he  grew  more  peaceful. 
He  was  arranging  things  so  that  he  could  win  out 
with  Steering.  Little  by  little  he  came  to  accept 
the  winning  out  as  an  assured  thing,  and  in  ac 
cepting  it  his  grievance  against  Steering  lightened, 
finally  appearing  to  him  as  an  easy  thing  to  dispose 
of.  Even  the  letter  in  his  pocket  grew  less  scorch 
ing.  Sometimes  he  forgot,  for  minutes  together, 

that  it   was   there.       Upon  the  hypothesis   that 
[155] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Steering  would  "  come  around "  everything 
smoothed  out.  Resting  securely  upon  that  hypo 
thesis,  Madeira  even  formulated  the  words  with 
which  he  would  take  Steering's  surrender :  "  God 
love  us,  that's  all  right !  You  just  trust  to  me 
from  now  on.  From  now  on  I'll  look  out  for  you, 
my  boy."  He  could  hear  himself  saying  that. 

At  six  o'clock,  still  shaping  the  day  toward  the 
appointment  with  Steering,  he  took  a  great  bevy 
of  men,  farmers,  stockmen,  storekeepers,  to  the 
Canaan  Hotel  for  supper.  Headed  by  Madeira, — 
who  kept  close  to  him  a  man  named  Salver,  to 
whom  he  constantly  referred  as  "  our  engineering 
friend  from  Joplin," — the  party  stamped  into  the 
hotel  dining-room.  And  though  various  members 
of  the  party  were  heavily  booted,  big,  brawny,  and 
in  other  ways  cut  out  as  assertive,  it  was  much  as 
though  they  were  not  there,  so  completely  did 
Madeira  fill  the  room.  In  the  hotel  office,  after 
the  supper  had  been  disposed  of,  though  every  man 
had  a  cigar  or  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  it  seemed  as 
though  Madeira  were  really  doing  all  the  smoking, 
so  insistently  did  the  smoke  wreaths  twist  about 
his  big  face,  as  the  others  edged  nearer  him  and 
[156] 


WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES? 
closed  in  upon  him.  On  the  outside,  on  the  way 
back  up  town,  the  street  seemed  full  of  Madeira. 
Even  when  some  few  of  the  satellites  broke  away 
from  him  and  scattered  into  other  parts  of  the 
town,  at  the  livery  stable,  the  drug  store,  the 
Grange,  talking  a  little  dubiously,  the  impression 
was  definite  that  they  were  only  meteoric  scraps, 
cast-off  clinkers  that  could  not  stand  the  fire  and 
the  fizz  and  the  whirl  in  Madeira's  orbit. 

The  superintendent  of  the  Tigmore  County 
schools,  a  long,  lean  man  with  a  trick  of  covert 
sarcasm,  happened  to  be  in  Canaan  that  day,  and 
he  cracked  a  joke  about  Madeira's  "  galley-gang," 
as  the  bevy  of  men  swept  past  him  on  their  way 
back  to  the  bank.  In  Canaan  almost  any  joke 
had  a  fair  chance  to  become  classic  through  imme 
diate  and  long-drawn  repetition,  and  the  super 
intendent's  joke  was  soon  going  up  and  down  the 
street  as  majestically  as  though  swathed  in  a 
Roman  toga.  By  seven  o'clock  the  joke  had  come 
on  to  Madeira's  ears.  At  eight  o'clock  the  super 
intendent  was  one  of  seven  men  who  sat  in  con 
ference  with  Madeira  in  the  private  office  of  the 
bank.  That  was  Madeira's  way.  Besides  Salver> 
[157] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

the  Joplin  man,  and  the  superintendent,  there  were 
at  the  conference  Larriman,  a  man  who  counted  his 
acres  by  the  thousands  in  We-all  Prairie ;  Heinkel, 
the  German  sheep-raiser  from  the  southern  part  of 
the  county ;  Shelby,  from  the  cotton  lands  of  the 
Upper  Bottom;  Pegram,  the  Canaan  postmaster, 
and  Quin  Beasley,  from  the  Grange  store. 

They  were  all  still  there  when  Steering  came  in. 
Fresh  from  the  hills,  young,  alert,  deep-lunged, 
brown-faced,  Steering  was  a  good  sort  to  look  at 
as  he  strode  into  the  room.  He  had  ridden  on  into 
Canaan  to  the  tune  of  high,  purposeful  music,  after 
parting  with  Sally  Madeira.  His  experience  with 
her  out  there  on  the  hills,  his  prof  ounder  impression 
of  her  fineness,  had  acted  upon  him  like  unbearably 
sweet  harmonies,  urgent,  inspirational.  He  was 
this  minute  keen  for  something  to  do,  something 
hard,  earnest,  momentous.  If  the  whole  truth  were 
told,  he  wanted  to  fight. 

Madeira  got  up  and  shook  hands  with  him,  the 
more  vigorously  and  noisily  because  of  a  sharp 
lambent  flare  that  leaped  out  from  the  younger 
man's  consciousness  like  a  warning,  and,  reaching 

Madeira,  stung  and  irritated  him.     As  they  stood 
[1*8] 


WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES? 
gripping  each  the  other's  hand,  both  big,  both  vig 
orous,  both  determined,  there  was  yet  a  fine  line  of 
distinction  between  them.  On  one  side  of  the 
line  stood  the  younger  man  with  his  ideals.  On  the 
other  side  stood  Madeira,  without  any  ideals. 

"  Come  in,  Steering,  my  boy !  "  In  spite  of  him 
self,  in  spite  of  the  "  my  boy,"  Madeira's  voice  rang 
harshly.  "  Lord  love  us,  we  are  having  a  little  pre 
liminary  meeting  here.  You  know  all  these  gentle 
men,  I  think?  I'm  just  reading  to  them  some  mat 
ter  that  I  have  got  ready.  I'll  go  on  reading,  if 
you  don't  mind.  Sit  down  over  there  and  listen." 

And,  Steering,  shaking  hands  with  the  men 
nearest  him,  and  bowing  to  the  men  farthest  from 
him,  sat  down  and  listened. 

As  Madeira  resumed  his  chair  at  his  desk,  he 
seemed  to  brace  himself  toward  some  sort  of  finality. 
His  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was  ominously  quiet  for  a 
noisy  man's  voice.  "  Here's  something  about  the 
country  in  general,"  he  began  slowly,  dispassion 
ately,  "  that  I  think  might  interest  a  fellow  who 
is  considering  coming  down  here  either  to  mine  or 
to  farm.  See  what  you  think  of  this :  '  It  was  in 

1874  that  the  first  carload  of  zinc  ore  went  up  to 
[1*9] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

the  zinc  works  in  Illinois.  That  was  the  beginning. 
Heretofore  Missouri  had  been  supposed  to  be  agri 
cultural  only,  but  here  was  a  new  Missouri,  whose 
wheat  and  corn  and  fruit  wealth  was  found  to  be 
supplemented  by  a  mineral  wealth  of  mammoth 
greatness.  Settlers  who  wanted  to  mine  began  to 
come  in,  towns  to  spring  up,  and  capital  to  be  in 
vested.  The  country  was  developed  with  lightning- 
like  speed.  From  the  Joplin  stretch  as  a  nucleus, 
lines  of  development  have  been  steadily  projected 
since  1874  to  this  day.  There  are  not  a  great 
many  undeveloped  big  acreages  of  land  left  in  any 
of  the  southern  Missouri  counties.  Of  the  few  that 
remain  by  far  the  largest  and  most  promising  is  the 
country  known  as  the  Tigmore  Stretch.  A  remark 
able  feature  of  this  region,  besides  its  great  agricul 
tural  possibilities,  is  that  the  surface  exposure  in  the 
hillsides  shows  distinct  mineral-bearing  horizons, 
beds  of  zinc  carbonates,  whose  promise  of  zinc  sul 
phide  at  a  greater  depth  is  absolutely  reliable.  That 
it  needs  only  deep  shafting  and  drilling  to  unearth 
more  remarkable  riches  than  even  Missouri  herself 
has  as  yet  yielded  up,  is  evident  from  the  outcrops' 

— by   the  way,   gentleman,"   Madeira   here   inter- 
[160] 


WHO'S    GOT   THE    TIGMORES? 

rupted  himself  to  say,  still  in  his  quiet,  dispassion 
ate  tone,  "  Salver  has  spent  a  good  many  days  in 
the  hills  lately,  and  he  has  decided  that  the  deeper- 
seated  sulphides  are  just  as  surely  in  the  hills  as 
are  the  carbonates.  He  has  done  a  lot  of  verify 
ing.  Aint  that  right,  Salver?" 

Salver  shuffled  his  feet  and  said  yes,  that  was 
right,  and  Madeira  read  again  from  his  notes,  pick 
ing  out  bits  here  and  there,  and  beginning  each 
time,  "  Now  take  this.  See  what  you  think  of 
this,"  his  voice  staying  monotonously  even. 

"  '  But,  besides  the  zinc  and  lead  and  iron  and 
coal,  Missouri's  well-improved  farms  invite  the  in 
tending  settler.' '  (Steering  thought  of  the  lean 
hill  farms  as  he  listened. )  "  '  There  is  an  abun 
dance  of  timber,  in  itself  a  great  saving  to  the 
house-builder,  and  there  are  innumerable  streams 
and  water-courses  and  lakes.  The  altitude  is  over 
one  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level,  and  the  cli 
mate  is  the  healthiest  in  the  United  States.  Both 
mining  and  farming  can  be  carried  on  the  year 
round.'  .  .  .  And  now,  lastly,  about  this 
form  letter  that  I  have  drafted  for  intending  inves 
tors — it  runs  like  this:  ^Dear  Mr.  So-and-So,' 
[161] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

(I  mean  to  have  the  name  filled  in  in  each  one,  I 
want  it  to  be  a  personal  letter)  '  May  I  ask  you 
to  examine  the  status  of  our  Canaan  Mining  and 
Development  Company,  as  set  forth  briefly  in  the 
enclosed  pamphlet.  A  careful  reading  will  con 
vince  you  that  we  are  organised  for  legitimate  busi 
ness  and  development,  rather  than  for  speculation. 
From  personal  knowledge,  I  am  able  to  vouch  for 
all  the  representations  made  by  the  Company. 
There  are  a  half  hundred  Tigmore  County  men 
already  in  the  Company ' — which  will,  of  course, 
be  the  fact  when  the  letter  is  sent,"  explained 
Madeira.  "  i  If  you  are  not  already  one  of  them, 
I  should  like  for  you  to  be.  I  think  you  know  my 
record  in  this  part  of  the  country,  as  well  as  the 
record  of  the  enterprises  for  which  I  have  stood 
sponsor,  and  I  am  confident  that  when  you  begin 
to  feel  interested  in  the  mining  developments 
through  this  section,  you  will  investigate  the 
Canaan  Company  before  investing  with  the  other 
companies  that  are  sure  to  spring  up  like  mush 
rooms  in  our  track.'  .  .  .  And  then,  this :  '  The 
chief  working  properties  of  the  Canaan  Com 
pany,  the  Tigmores,  can  without  doubt  be  made  to 
[162] 


WHO'S   GOT   THE    TIGMORES? 

pay  from  one  hundred  to  five  hundred  per  cent,  on 
any  investment  within  the  first  year.  The  Canaan 
Company  will  not  have  to  depend  upon  shallow 
sheets  of  mineral  against  dead  rock,  as  do  many  of 
the  speculative  enterprises  of  the  mining  section. 
The  Canaan  Company  will  not  cut  blind.  It  knows 
its  field,  it  knows  its  chances,  it  knows  its  future  ' — 
and  so  on,  and  so  on — how  do  you  think  it  goes, 
boys?" 

They  thought  it  went  rapidly,  and  they  said  so 
with  loud  endorsement. 

"  Well,  I  decided  I'd  get  the  thing  moving  here 
at  home  first,"  elaborated  Madeira ;  "  when  all's 
said  and  done,  a  fellow  likes  to  see  his  own  place 
and  people  profit  by  what's  going  on.  I'm  going 
to  send  that  letter  out  first  to  the  Tigmore  County 
people,  and  then  move  out  in  wider  circles  later. 
Shouldn't  you  think  that  was  the  way  to  work  it 
out?" 

Yes,  they  thought  that  was  the  way.  Indeed, 
the  way  seemed  such  a  good  one,  and  the  work  was 
evidently  to  be  so  carefully,  so  conscientiously  per 
formed  that,  to  Steering,  as  he  had  listened,  the 
crying  shame  of  it  all  had  been  not  that  it  wasn't 
[163] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

true, — it  might  be  true,  there  was  no  telling, — but 
that  Madeira,  its  promoter,  didn't  care  a  rap 
whether  it  was  true  or  not.  Or,  after  all,  was  he, 
Steering,  wrong  about  that?  Had  Madeira 
changed  about?  Been  himself  convinced  that  the 
actual  prospects  were  so  good  that  it  was  senseless 
not  to  depend  upon  them,  without  any  of  the  wings 
that  his  fancy  might  give  them?  Had  the  thing 
become  with  Madeira,  during  these  more  recent 
days,  something  larger,  something  legitimate?  All 
the  other  men  were  taking  Madeira's  attitude  seri 
ously.  They  showed  that  they  were  by  the  emo 
tionalism,  effusive,  admiring,  with  which  they  hung 
upon  Madeira  for  a  few  last  words,  by  their  blind 
dependence,  their  awe.  When  the  seance  broke  up 
finally,  they  strayed  away  from  him  haltingly,  like 
lost  sheep. 

The  impression  of  Madeira  upon  the  men,  as  he 
let  them  out  of  the  door,  was  so  profound  that  it 
came  on  to  Steering  with  the  value  of  a  reflection. 
He  felt  himself  growing  a  little  hopeful  that  the 
thing  really  was  to  be  right  and  straight,  as  he 
watched  Madeira  turn  from  the  door. 

For  his  part,  Madeira  came  back  toward  his 
[164] 


WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES? 
desk  with  a  peculiar  revulsion  of  feeling  upon  him. 
This  effort  of  his  to  bring  Steering  around  by 
strategy  was  galling  him.  He  resented  that  any 
such  effort  should  ever  have  been  saddled  upon  him. 
He  considered  that  from  the  start  Steering  should 
have  been  with  him.  Most  fiercely  of  all  he  re 
sented  that  he,  Crittenton  Madeira,  should  have 
let  himself  get  into  the  position  of  trying  to  mollify 
Steering.  "  By  God !  "  he  was  saying  to  himself 
with  a  convulsive  anger,  "  Me  to  have  to  mollify ! 
By  God !  Me !  "  Then  the  thought  of  Sally  came 
back  to  him,  goading  him  and  confusing  him. 
On  a  sudden  impulse  of  candour  he  cried  out  to 
Steering,  as  he  came  on  to  his  desk. 

"  Steering !  God  love  you,  why  do  you  want 
trouble  between  you  and  me?  Don't  you  see  that 
I  have  this  thing  here  under  my  thumb?  Don't 
you  see  that  you  mustn't  go  against  me,  my  boy? 
Here's  your  chance  back  again.  I'm  handing  it 
out  to  you.  Stand  by  me.  You  won't  be  sorry. 
All  my  plans  are  made  now.  I  have  once  or  twice 
in  my  life  thought  the  thing  to  do  down  here  was 
to  stir  up  a  furore  over  some  of  the  lakes  and  the 

springs  and  the  scenery  and  make  a  health  resort 
[165] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

out  of  the  region,  but  I  have  settled  away 
from  that  now,  settled  straight  at  zinc.  But  Lord 
bless  you!  zinc  or  no  zinc  we  can't  fail  to  make  a 
pile  of  money  out  of  this.  Why  do  you  want  to 
be  a  fool  and  hold  back  from  me  when  I'm  willing 
to  pull  you  along?  You  ought  to  see  by  now  that 
you  can't  do  anything  without  me,  or  go  against 
me.  'Tisn't  everybody  I'm  willing  to  pull  along, 
Steering.  Why,  boy,  from  the  start,  I've  treated 
you  on  the  square,  let  you  know  me  on  the  inside — 
let — and,  here  and  now,  I'm  still  willing  to  pull 
you  along,  if  you'll  come  along! — eh,  what?  " 

With  Madeira's  words,  matching  Madeira's  ex 
citement,  blazing  furiously  and  whitely,  out  leaped 
the  slower,  stronger  fire  of  the  younger  man's  per 
sonality. 

"  See  here !  "  shouted  Steering,  "  twice  now  I've 
done  my  best  to  hope  that  somehow,  somewhere 
you  were  going  to  throw  me  one  line  of  commercial 
honesty  and  decency.  I  haven't  asked  you  to 
measure  up  to  very  high  standards,  I'd  have  been 
satisfied  with  damned  little ;  I've  waited  on  you  and 
hoped  for  you  and  let  you  try  to  bull-doze  me,  but 
by  God !  I'm  done.  You  hear,  I'm  done ! "  He 
[166] 


WHO'S  GOT  THE  TIGMORES? 
got  up  and  the  lean  strength  of  his  determination 
and  the  long  reach  of  his  body  were  all-powerful. 
"  Don't  you  try  this  game  with  me  again,  Mr. 
Madeira!  Don't  you  ever  try  any  game  with  me 
again — No !  Keep  back !  Not  that  either !  " 

Madeira  had  gone  crazy  for  the  time.  Possessed 
only  by  that  desire  to  crush  the  thing  that  opposed 
him,  he  lifted  his  big  clenched  fists  straight  up  over 
his  head  and  came  at  Steering,  fiery-eyed,  per- 
fervid  with  relish  of  the  moment  when  he  could 
close  down  on  his  enemy  and  make  an  end  of  him. 
He  panted  as  he  came,  and  as  he  came  the  veins  in 
his  temples  stood  out,  purple  and  knotted.  A  little 
line  of  froth  lay  upon  his  lower  lip. 

"Eh,  God!  You!— Wait  there!— You!— 
You! " 

Steering,  with  the  old  prowess  that  had  made  the 
boys  on  the  gridiron  stand  aside  and  howl  for  him, 
reached  up  and  brought  Madeira's  arms  down  with 
a  circling,  sweeping  blow,  then  caught  the  bulky, 
staggering  body  and  thrashed  it  into  a  chair,  for 
getful  that  it  was  Madeira,  forgetful  of  Sally  Ma 
deira,  forgetful  of  everything  for  one  red  instant 

save  a  savage  masculine  joy  in  his  own  strength. 
[167] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Then  he  took  out  a  cigar  and  lit  it,  and  his  men 
tal  readjustment  followed  quickly.  "  Mr.  Ma 
deira,"  he  said,  puffing  slowly  at  the  cigar,  the 
match's  yellow  light  on  his  face  showing  that  he 
was  pale,  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  made  me  do  that, 
sir.  Still,  I  must  add  this  to  what  I've  said, — 
don't,  please,  ever  try  to  pull  me  along  with  you 
again.  I  guess  I'm  going  in  a  different  direction. 
This  leaves  everything  settled  between  us.  Our 
paths  aren't  apt  to  cross  again.  You  aren't  hurt, 
I  hope?  There  is  nothing  that  I  can  do  for  you?  " 

Madeira  made  no  answer.  He  was  sitting,  a 
wooden  figure,  in  front  of  his  desk  where  Steering 
had  thrashed  him  down.  His  temples  were  still 
purplish,  but  the  crazy  light  was  no  longer  in  his 
eyes.  They  were  dull  and  fishy.  Steering  had 
gone  to  the  office  door,  then  the  bank  door  had 
clanked  to  behind  him  before  Madeira  moved.  He 
began  working  his  fingers  then,  watching  them 
questioningly,  stupidly.  They  felt  stiff  and  numb. 
Suddenly  he  leaned  forward  exhausted.  His  head 
rolled  on  the  desk.  "  Sally  ?  "  he  whimpered,  in  a 
furtive,  scared  way,  "  Sally?  " 

Then,  all  in  a  moment,  he  jumped  to  his  feet, 
[168] 


WHO'S    GOT    THE    TIGMORES? 
clutching   at  the   pocket   that   held   the   Grierson 
letter,  while  words  came  from  his  mouth  in  vehe 
ment  staccato  yelps: 

"Eh,  God!  He'll  go  against  me,  will  he? 
Wait.  I'll  show  him.  Who's  got  the  Tigmores? 
Answer  me  that  now?  Who's  got  the  Tigmores?  " 
Off  beyond  his  window  tumbled  the  long  Tigmore 
line.  He  crossed  the  room,  all  his  strength  back 
with  him,  and  looked  out  upon  the  high  black  hills. 
"Eh,  God!"  he  shouted,  and  beat  at  his  chest 
where  the  letter  lay,  "  Dead  men  tell  no  tales !  I've 
got  the  Tigmores!  " 


[169] 


Chapter  Eleven 

TALL    THINGS 

ONE  late  fall  afternoon  a  man  and  a  boy 
lingered  under  the  shadow  of  tall  trees 
and  pondered  tall  things.  The  boy  was 
propped  against  the  trunk  of  an  oak ;  his  hat  was 
pushed  back  from  his  face ;  his  black  tumbling  hair 
made  his  slim  brown  face  seem  browner,  his  long 
eyes  darker  than  they  were ;  his  young  intensities 
of  fancy  and  feeling  were  aroused,  and  manifest  in 
the  tremble  of  his  lip,  the  vibrancy  of  his  voice, 
the  shaking  light  of  his  glance.  The  man  lay  flat 
on  his  back  with  a  book  spread  out  over  his 
stomach  and  his  long  white  fingers  interlaced  across 
the  book  fondly.  Down  at  their  feet  the  Di  flowed 
swiftly,  with  the  eyrie  shiver  on  her  bosom,  making 
haste,  like  a  frightened  woman,  past  the  lonely  Tig- 
mores  toward  the  livelier  corn  and  cotton  lands. 
All  around  the  horizon  the  sky  so  throbbed  that 
here  and  there  it  rent  the  sheer  cloud-veil  that  lay 

in  delicate  illusion  over  the  blue.     Through  the 
[170] 


TALL   THINGS 

trees  played  frightened  flashes  of  colour,  the  whisk 
of  a  cardinal's  wing,  the  burnt-red  plume  of  a  fox- 
squirrel's  tail.  In  the  air  there  was  a  palpitancy 
that  was  to  the  dream  senses  what  colour  vibrations 
are  to  the  eye. 

The  man  took  up  the  book  and  began  to  read 
from  it,  and  this  was  the  burden  of  the  read 
ing: 

"  '  Nobody  can  pretend  to  explain  in  detail  the 
whole  enigma  of  first  love.  But  a  general  explana 
tion  is  suggested  by  evolutional  philosophy, — 
namely,  that  the  attraction  depends  upon  an  in 
herited  individual  susceptibility  to  special  qualities 
of  feminine  influence,  and  subjectively  represents 
a  kind  of  superindividual  recognition,'  "  the  man 
smiled  gravely  and  repeated  the  last  stave  with 
questioning  care,  "  '  and  subjectively  represents  a 
kind  of  superindividual  recognition? — a  sudden 
wakening  of  that  inherited  composite  memory  which 
is  more  commonly  called  passional  affinity.' — I 
have  a  notion  that  that  may  mean  something  or 
other,  Piney?" 

"  Don't  ast  me." 

The  reader  began  again :  " '  Certainly  if  first 
[171] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

love  be  evolutionally  explicable,  it  means  the  per 
ception  by  the  lover  of  something  differentiating 
the  beloved  from  all  other  women, — something  cor 
responding  to  an  inherited  ideal  within  himself, 
previously  latent,  but  suddenly  lighted  and  de 
fined,' — an  inherited  ideal — something  differen 
tiating  the  beloved  from  all  other  women,"  mur 
mured  the  reader  earnestly.  He  put  the  book  back 
upon  his  stomach,  and  there  was  a  long  silence  in 
the  woods,  broken  by  a  distant  reverberation,  short, 
sharp,  suggestive.  Piney  jumped,  like  the  highly 
strung,  alert  young  animal  that  he  was. 

"  Whut  wuz  it,  Mist'  Steerin'?  " 

"  Uncle  Bernique's  blasts,  Piney.  He's  on  the 
trail."  The  silence  remained  unbroken  for  another 
long  period. 

"  Mist'  Steerin',"  began  Piney  at  last ;  he  had  a 
long  spear  of  sere  grass  in  his  mouth  and  he  chewed 
at  it  argumentatively,  "  d'you  think, — I  couldn't 
adzackly  tell  whut  that  writin'  wuz  a-aimin'  at, 
but  simlike  f 'm  the  way  it  goes  on  that  ef  the  sort 
of  thing  it  makes  aout  to  happen  happens  onst,  it 
oughtn't  never  to  happen  agin,  hmh?  "  Piney 's 
long  drawn  notes  of  rising  inflection  were  musical. 
[172] 


TALL   THINGS 

"  Simlike,  ef  a  man  onst  finds  the  right  woman 
they  oughtn't  never  to  be  no  more  right  women, 
hmh?" 

"  There  ought  not  to  be,  Piney,  son." 
"Well,  but  they  gen'ly  is,  hmh?"  Bruce 
straightened  out  one  foot  with  an  impatient  kick. 
Ever  since  they  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  ab 
stracted  talks  on  this  imponderable  subject,  Piney 
had  seemed  able,  with  a  sort  of  elfin  craft,  to  make 
Bruce  remember  Miss  Elsie  Gossamer's  light,  fleet 
ing  touch  upon  his  life.  He  had  never  mentioned 
Miss  Gossamer  to  Piney  in  all  their  mutual  experi 
ence,  yet  the  tramp-boy  was  constantly  skirmishing 
up  from  afar  with  a  generalisation,  like  a  high- 
held  transparency,  that  illuminated  Miss  Gos 
samer's  memory  for  Bruce.  Three  hypotheses  had 
presented  to  Bruce  in  the  way  of  explanation :  one, 
that  he  himself  was  possessed  by  a  little  embarrassed 
consciousness  that  he  should  have  had  any  past  at 
all  in  view  of  the  present ;  another,  that  Miss  Sally 
Madeira  had  just  possibly  set  Piney  on  to  worry 
him  about  Miss  Gossamer ;  and  the  last,  that  Piney, 
divining  that  a  man  could  hardly  reach  Bruce's  age 
without  some  pages  of  romance  behind  him,  was 
[173] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

forever,  out  of  his  own  perspicacity,  trying  to 
make  Bruce  re-read  those  pages,  so  that  this  new 
page,  that  had  been  turned  under  the  hand  of 
Sally  Madeira,  might  not  be  written. 

"  Piney,"  Bruce  answered  at  last  regretfully, 
"  it's  a  pagan  world.  Men  make  mistakes.  I 
think  it's  largely  because  they  want  so  much  to 
love  that  they  love  somebody,  anybody,  till  the 
right  person  comes  along." 

"  Should  think  they  'ud  wait,"  demurred  Piney 
stubbornly. 

"  Well,  n — o,  that's  the  notion  of  a  man  who  has 
met  the  right  person  exactly  in  the  beginning;  or 
it's  a  woman's  notion;  but  it  isn't  the  notion  of  a 
man  who,  with  a  sense  for  beauty  and  sweetness, 
waits,  like  a  harp  for  its  music,  out  in  the  open 
where  beauty  and  sweetness  beat  down  upon  him. 
Out  in  the  open  a  man  gets  blind.  Lord !  "  went  on 
Steering,  remembering  Miss  Gossamer  again,  and 
trying  to  explain  her  to  himself,  "  how  can  a  man 
help  loving  prettiness!  That's  what  a  man  loves 
often  and  always,  Piney,  prettiness,  grace,  viva 
city — and  then  once  in  his  life  he  loves  a  woman — 
Hah !  "  cried  Steering,  as  though  he  had  at  last  got 
[174] 


TALL   THINGS 

the  best  of  Miss  Gossamer,  "  that's  it — that  sounds 
good." 

"  Well,  d'you  think,"  went  on  Piney,  jerking 
his  spear  of  grass  viciously,  "  d'you  think  that  a 
man  cand  fall  in  love  with  a  lady  rat  off,  just 
knowin'  her  a  few  weeks  ? "  This  was  one  of 
Piney 's  ways  of  manifesting  the  jealousy  that  dis 
quieted  him,  slurring  covertly,  and  with  his  lips 
flickering  peculiarly,  at  Steering's  brief  acquaint 
ance  with  Miss  Madeira.  He  was  always  showing 
in  innumerable  ways  the  hold  that  Bruce  had  taken 
upon  his  young  affections,  but  he  could  not  help 
showing,  too,  the  sore  spot  of  his  valuation  of 
Steering's  regard  for  Miss  Madeira.  Though  they 
mentioned  Miss  Madeira  between  them  only 
casually,  Bruce  knew  for  himself  that  Piney,  in 
his  crude  but  vehement  way,  was  living  through 
a  boy's  own  high  tragedy  of  love  for  a  woman  older 
than  he  and  beyond  his  reach,  and  Piney  knew  for 
himself  that  Steering,  in  the  most  perfect  flower  of 
his  capacity,  had  attained  his  destiny  as  a  perfect 
lover,  under  circumstances  most  unpropitious. 
The  fact  that  the  woman  who  was  the  object  of  the 

boy's  enraptured  fancy  had  levied  royal  tribute 
[175] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

upon  the  man's  love  in  the  same  purple-mannered 
fashion  brought  boy  and  man  close.  Tacitly  they 
recognised  that  the  bond  between  them  was  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  Piney's  jealousy,  and, 
both  watching,  they  allowed  the  boy  to  depend  from 
it,  swing  on  it  and  strain  it  just  enough  to  make 
both  conscious  that  the  bond  was  there. 

"  You  know  what  I  think,  Piney,"  said  Steering 
after  a  long  wait,  in  which  he  had  been  busy  remem 
bering  the  fulness  of  one  moment  in  the  Bank  of 
Canaan.  "  I  think  that  if  she  is  the  right  woman 
a  man  can  fall  in  love  in  one  minute.  And  I  think 
that  if  she  is  the  right  woman  all  eternity  will  not 
give  him  time  to  fall  out  of  love  with  her  and  no 
sort  of  hell  of  bad  situations  will  ever  be  wide 
enough  to  keep  his  thoughts  away  from  her." 
Steering  spoke  with  a  well-ordered  restraint,  but  a 
sense  of  the  combination  of  situations  that  he  him 
self  had  come  into  lent  a  ringing,  protesting 
resonance  to  his  voice,  and  Piney  forgot  to  be 
jealous  and  flashed  him  a  long,  keen  look  of  delight. 
Steering  realised  that  he  sometimes  put  into  words 
the  things  that  Piney  yearned  toward  and  dreamed, 
but  could  not  express ;  and  he  also  realised,  from  the 
[176] 


TALL   THINGS 

added  satisfaction  that  he  got  out  of  his  words 
because  of  Piney's  satisfaction  in  them,  that  Piney 
sometimes  enlivened  and  enriched  his  own  emotions 
for  him.  Their  romancing  made  boy  and  man 
delicately  complementary  to  each  other.  Steering 
had  taken  Piney's  love  for  the  girl  who  was  beyond 
him  as  a  fine  and  simple  thing,  and,  taken  in  that 
way,  it  played  up  to  Brace's  love  with  the  rich 
imageries  and  colours  of  youth,  and  made  Bruce 
younger,  quicker  for  it.  Piney,  on  his  side,  had  a 
keen,  shy  consciousness  of  immaturity  and  inex 
perience  that  made  him  attend  upon  Bruce's  out 
bursts  of  passion  as  upon  an  illumination  of  what 
this  thing  of  man's  love  could  be  and  should  be  at 
its  biggest  and  best. 

"  That's  just  exactly  the  truth,"  maintained 
Steering  earnestly.  It  was  remarkable  how  earnest 
he  could  be  on  this  line  of  opinion.  Miss  Elsie 
Gossamer  would  have  marvelled  to  hear  him.  Time 
was  when  he  had  agreed  with  Miss  Gossamer  that 
only  people  who  had  known  each  other  a  long  time, 
as  he  and  she  had,  could  depend  upon  their  attitude 
toward  each  other.  The  attitude  between  Miss 

Gossamer  and  him  had  seemed  very  reliable  in  those 
[177] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

prehistoric  days  when  congeniality  of  taste,  a 
flower  face  and  the  probability  of  getting  through 
life  without  much  worry  on  your  mind  and  a  good 
cigar  in  your  mouth  had  seemed  sufficient  to  him. 
Things  like  that  seemed  pitifully  insufficient  now. 
He  wheeled  about  restlessly  and  considered. 

From  where  he  and  Piney  were  they  could  hear 
the  sound  of  a  steam-drill,  thud-thud-thudding 
into  the  heart  of  a  distant  knob  of  the 
Canaan  Tigmores.  That  notion  of  Carington's 
and  his  about  getting  into  the  hills  had  undeniably 
balled  up  into  the  veriest  nonsense  under 
the  pressure  of  Crittenton  Madeira's  control 
of  the  Tigmores.  Steering  pounded  on  the  ground 
with  one  fist  and  clenched  his  hands  tightly  about 
his  knees.  That  was  not  the  worst,  and  he  might 
as  well  face  the  worst.  There  was  also  by  now  the 
bitterest  sort  of  animosity  toward  him  on  Madeira's 
part.  Old  Bernique,  who  was  very  fond  of  Miss 
Madeira  and  loathed  her  father,  had  commented  to 
Steering  upon  that  being  Madeira's  way  with 
everyone  who  promised  to  be  too  much  for 
him  to  handle — bah!  it  made  Steering  angry  to 
consider  that  Madeira  should  ever  have  tried  to 
[178] 


TALL    THINGS 

"  handle  "  him.  He  loosed  the  clench  of  his  hands 
about  his  knees  and  jumped  to  his  feet.  That  was 
not  the  worst,  and  he  might  as  well  face  the  worst. 
Naturally  enough  the  daughter  had  had  to  go 
with  the  father.  That  ride  across  the  sunset  glory 
of  the  Tigmores  had  been  good-bye  after  all.  It 
had  been  two  weeks  since  he  had  stood  with  her  on 
the  spur  above  Salome  Park,  and  he  had  seen  her 
twice  since;  once  at  the  post-office,  where  she  had 
said,  "  Good-morning,  Mr.  Steering " ;  once  on 
Main  Street  in  front  of  her  father's  bank,  where 
she  had  said,  "  Good-evening,  Mr.  Steering." 

But  for  all  these  things,  he  was  not  done  with 
Missouri  yet.  Even  now  he  was  waiting  for  old 
Bernique.  When  Bernique  should  come  they 
would  be  off  again  on  a  long  prospect.  Bernique 
and  he  had  been  in  the  hills  for  two  weeks,  skirting 
the  Grierson  entail,  picking,  digging,  sniffing  for 
ore  by  day,  sleeping  long  sleeps  on  forest  leaves, 
heaped  and  aromatic,  by  night.  He  had  that  day 
ridden  into  Canaan  for  some  clean  clothes,  and  was 
beating  back  toward  Old  Bernique  now,  having 
picked  up  Piney  down  the  river  road. 

"  Well,  Piney,  son,"  Steering  invaded  the  rush 
[179] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

of  his  own  thoughts  ruthlessly,  "  I  expect  I  ought 
to  be  toddling.  Going  to  ride  part  of  the  way 
with  me?  I  think  we  shall  fall  in  with  Uncle 
Bernique  up-stream  a  mile  or  so." 

"  Why,  yes,"  assented  Piney,  rising ;  he  made 
a  keen  calculation  of  the  time  by  the  sun,  as  he  got 
to  his  feet ;  "  I'll  go  a-ways  with  you.  I'd  like  to 
see  Unc'  Bernique — aint  seen  him  simlike  fer  a 
long  time." 

Their  horses  were  tethered  in  a  little  glade  below 
them  and  they  went  into  the  glade  as  they  talked. 
"  We  like  Uncle  Bernique,  don't  we,  Piney  ?  "  sug 
gested  Steering,  relishing  Piney's  reference  to  the 
old  Frenchman. 

"  Best  old  man  in  the  world,"  answered  Piney, 
with  the  soft,  sweet  shyness,  like  a  girl's,  that  was 
always  in  his  voice  when  he  let  his  affections  find 
expression. 

Before  this  Steering  had  heard,  from  old 
Bernique  himself,  the  short  story  that  had  con 
nected  the  affections  of  the  tramp-boy  and  the 
wandering  prospector.  Piney,  Old  Bernique  had 
said,  was  the  child  of  a  woman  whom  he  had  known 

in  St.  Louis  in  the  old  days.     Old  Bernique,  who 
[180] 


TALL   THINGS 

was  only  middle-aged  Bernique  then,  had  lived  as  a 
neighbour  to  the  woman,  whom  he  had  loved  very 
much.  But  the  woman  had  married  another  man, 
and  had  gone  away  to  the  Southwest.  And,  later 
on,  Old  Bernique  had  followed.  And  in  these 
later  days,  since  the  woman's  death,  it  had  been 
given  him  to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  her  child, 
Piney.  Piney's  parents  had  not  been  Italians  at 
all,  so  Old  Bernique  told  Steering,  just  plain, every 
day  Americans,  from  up  "  at  that  St.  Louis,"  quite 
poor  and  always  on  the  move.  The  father  had 
been  known  throughout  the  country-side  as  a 
"  blame'  good  fiddler  "  and  the  mother  had  been, 
oh  a  vair'  wonderful  woman,  if  one  could  believe 
Old  Bernique.  But  there  was  no  Italian  blood  in 
Piney.  His  feeling  for  Italy  had  to  be  explained 
in  another  way.  It  was  the  great  sweet  note  of 
poetry,  music  and  beauty,  of  that  far  country, 
vibrating  across  the  years  and  the  miles,  taken  up 
as  a  memory  in  the  Missouri  hills  by  Old  Bernique 
and,  through  him,  reaching  a  Missouri  boy's  heart, 
all  tuned  and  pitched  for  it.  That  was  all  there 
was  to  Piney's  story.  It  was  only  a  fragment. 

Reaching  their  horses  in  the  glade,  Steering  and 
[181] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Piney  mounted  and  started  up  the  river  road. 
"  Can't  you  come  with  us  for  the  rest  of  the  week, 
son  ?  "  asked  Bruce,  as  they  j  ourneyed. 

"  Nope.  Goin'  trampin'  by  myse'f ."  It  was 
Piney's  habit  to  disappear  for  days,  gipsy  that  he 
was.  Perhaps  the  habit  was  growing  upon  him  a 
little  of  late.  He  had  no  abiding  place ;  sometimes 
he  referred  to  one  hill  shanty,  sometimes  to  another, 
as  home ;  but  the  home-feeling  with  him  was  at  its 
fullest  and  strongest  when  he  was  "  trampin'." 
Ostensibly  his  vocation  was  that  of  a  travelling 
farm-hand,  but  it  was  all  ostentation.  Piney 
would  not  work.  Not  while  the  pony  could  carry 
him  from  hospitable  farm-house  to  hospitable  farm 
house.  He  was  a  knight  of  the  saddle,  the  un 
crowned  king  of  the  woods,  and  Bruce,  riding 
along  beside  him  now,  regarding  him,  enjoying 
him,  would  not  have  exchanged  comradeship  with 
the  boy's  simple,  high-tuned  relish  of  life  for 
comradeship  with  kings. 

"  Miss  Madeira  is  going  to  Europe,  I  hear, 
Piney,"  adventured  Steering. 

"  Yass."  Piney  said  nothing  more  for  some 
time.  He  looked  very  thoughtful.  "  Y'see,"  he 
[182] 


TALL   THINGS 

went  on  after  a  bit,  "  I'm  a-thinkin'  abaout  ridin' 
off — some'ere — over  the  Ridge, — bein'  gone  fer  a 
long  time." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  groaned  Steering.  He  very  well 
knew  what  was  taking  Piney  away.  It  was  hard 
on  him  that  the  boy's  plan  for  absence  should  pile 
up  on  Sally  Madeira's  plan,  but  he  could  under 
stand  that  it  would  be  harder  on  the  boy  to  stay  in 
the  Tigmores  with  the  inspiration  of  the  Tigmores 
hushed  and  gone. 

"  Not  thinking  of  going  to  Italy  yet,  Piney  ?  " 
It  had  come  to  be  an  accepted  joke  with  them,  that 
penchant  of  Piney's  for  Italy.  The  boy  was  will 
ing  to  laugh  about  it,  but  his  eyes  always  sobered 
dreamily  in  the  end,  and  invariably  he  wound  up 
with,  "  but  I'm  a-goin',  all  righty,  an'  don't  you 
fergit  it."  He  did  now.  "  But  y'see,  whilst  I'm 
a-waitin'  I  git  kinda  tired  the  hills,  Mist'  Steerin'," 
he  complained,  trying  to  explain  how  it  was  with 
him  without  telling  anything.  "  Lots  er  times  I  go 
off  an'  don't  come  back  fer  a  long  time."  Not  till 
Miss  Madeira  comes  home,  Bruce  added  out  of  his 
own  intuition.  "  Git  sorta  tired  the  hills,"  re 
peated  Piney  stubbornly. 

[183\ 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Do  they  stop  talking  to  you,  the  hills  and  the 
woods  and  the  quiet  ?  " 

"  Yass,  they  do,  sometimes,  when  I'm  pestered — 
not  as  I  pester  much,"  he  laughed  and  broke  off 
suddenly  in  his  laughter,  with  a  little  sobbing  shake 
in  his  breath,  and  passed  on  ahead  of  Steering,  who 
looked  away  from  him  up  the  bridle  road  that  cut 
into  the  Canaan  Tigmores. 

"  There  comes  Uncle  Bernique ! "  cried  Steering 
then,  glad  of  a  chance  to  divert  Piney.  Gazing 
toward  Bernique  welcomingly,  he  was  diverted  him 
self.  The  old  man  made  no  answer  to  the  shouts 
that  Piney  and  Steering  sent  out  to  him.  He 
peered  straight  toward  them,  through  them,  his 
eyes  dry  and  brilliant.  He  seemed  hardly  able  to 
sit  on  his  horse,  because  of  a  sort  of  enervating 
restlessness;  he  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  his 
bridle ;  both  of  his  hands  were  in  the  pockets  of  the 
tattered  old  coat  that  covered  his  body. 

"  Hi  there,  Pard !  "  hallooed  Piney,  with  a  boy's 
rich  assurance  that  recognises  neither  class  nor  age. 

"  Found !  "  the  old  man  tried  to  speak,  but  made 
a  dry,  clicking  sound  instead.  He  took  his  hands 
from  his  pockets  and  held  up  in  each  hand  a  lump 
[184] 


TALL   THINGS 

of  mineral  earth.  As  he  came  toward  them  in  that 
way,  both  hands  upheld,  the  wild  fever  light  in  his 
eyes,  his  thin  body  electrified  with  a  strange  new 
vitality,  to  Steering,  who  saw  all  at  once  what  it 
meant,  his  movement  was  that  of  the  last  full  strain 
of  the  miner's  epic.  "  Found !  Found ! "  he  re 
peated,  as  though  the  sound  was  blessed,  and  he 
held  up  the  rocks,  as  though  the  sight  was  heaven. 
When  they  reached  him,  trembling  by  now  them 
selves,  they  had  to  help  him  from  his  horse  and 
quiet  and  rest  him  by  the  roadside  before  he  could 
tell  his  tale.  Waiting  nervously,  Bruce  took  the 
nuggets  and  regarded  them;  beautiful  specimens, 
one  stratum  opaque,  and  seaming  on  to  that  stratum 
another,  reddish  and  glinting,  like  the  spiked  fire  of 
gold ;  and  on  that  stratum  another,  grey  and  silver- 
faceted. 

"  Pretty  splendid,"  cried  Steering,  and  sat  down 
suddenly  and  weakly.  It  was  not  to  be  forgotten 
that  Old  Bernique  had  emerged  from  the  bridle 
path  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores. 

"  When  did  you  make  the  find,  Uncle  Bernique  ?  " 
he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  Thees  minute,"  control  was  coming  back  to  the 

[185] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

old  man,  he  raised  his  head  from  Piney's  shoulder 
and  leaned  toward  Bruce — "  only  thees  minute ! 
And  for  twenty  year  I  have  known  that  it  must  be 
here,  the  ore,  lead  and  zinc,  in  the  gr-r-eat 
quantity!  For  twenty  year!  And  just  thees 
minute  have  I  found  it ! "  At  the  wailing  sound 
of  time  lost,  life  lost,  in  Bernique's  voice,  long  lines 
of  ghostly,  bent-backed  miners,  with  ghostly,  un 
availing  picks  and  shovels,  seemed  to  defile  down 
the  bridle-path  from  the  Canaan  Tigmores  in 
historic  illustration,  conjured  up  by  the  hypnosis 
of  the  old  man's  words. 

"  The  troub'  has  been,"  went  on  Bernique  fever 
ishly,  "  that  we  have  not  looked  for  the  ore  in  that 
place  where  the  ore  is ' 

"  That's  always  the  troub',"  muttered  Piney. 
He  had  got  his  composure  back  and  he  seemed  now 
rather  good-naturedly  contemptuous.  Piney's  was 
not  a  nature  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  exaltation 
of  an  ore  find. 

"  The  mother  lode  runs  through  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores,"  went  on  Bernique  hurriedly,  "  of  that  I  am 
now  convince', but  it  comes  to  the  surface, — it  comes 
to  the  surface, — ah,  God  above !  I  expire  with  it,— 
[186] 


TALL   THINGS 

let  us  go  to  Choke  Gulch,  and  I  will  show  yon 
where  it  comes  to  the  surface !  " 

He  was  insistent,  his  breath  had  come  back  to 
him,  and  they  let  him  have  his  way,  following  him 
up  the  bridle-path  into  the  long  shadow  of  the 
Canaan  Tigmores.  On  the  top  of  the  first  bluff 
they  tied  their  horses  again  and  took  a  foot  trail 
where  the  bluff,  having  rolled  back  a  mile  from  the 
river,  tumbled  precipitately  into  a  deep  yawning 
gully.  From  the  timbered  eminence  the  prospect 
below  was  as  dank  and  gloomy  as  a  paleolithic  fern 
forest.  Sodden,  mossy,  and  almost  impenetrable, 
the  hill  split  and  dropped  into  Choke  Gulch.  From 
far  down  within  the  black  and  tangled  fastnesses 
came  the  solemn  ripple  of  slow-running  water.  A 
veil  of  weird  loneliness  hung  over  the  cavernous 
place  and  the  air  that  shivered  up  to  the  three  was 
cool  and  laden  with  damp,  sweet  odours.  Old  Ber- 
nique  began  to  descend.  As  they  proceeded,  the 
old  man's  sense  of  something  stupendous  impressed 
itself  more  and  more  upon  his  companions.  Farther 
on  down,  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  Gulch  became 
unbearable,  but  no  one  spoke.  Little  sunlight 

penetrated  the  dense  curtain  of  brown  and  red 

[187] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

leaves  overhead,  and  what  little  flickered  through 
had  an  electric  brightness  against  the  dead  brown 
of  the  leaf-carpeted  ground  and  the  grey  and 
hoary  tree-trunks.  Every  bird  that  came  to  the 
tree-tops  sang  once,  but  it  was  only  when  he  dis 
covered  his  mistake,  lifted  his  wings  and  careened 
away  gladly  into  the  upper  light. 

"  Whayee !  "  Piney  found  a  shivering  voice  at 
last,  "  ef  I  never  git  rich  till  I  come  down  into  an 
ugly  hole  fer  riches  I'll  be  mighty  pore  all  my 
days."  Bruce  smiled  absently  at  the  boy's  sus 
ceptibility,  but  threw  a  reassuring  arm  about  his 
shoulder.  He  smiled  again  when  presently  Piney 
drew  away.  That  was  Piney's  habit,  as  affec 
tionate  in  instinct  as  a  kitten,  and  as  timid  of 
manifestation  as  a  wild  doe. 

Old  Bernique  called  his  little  party  to  a  halt  at 
the  bottommost  dip  of  the  Gulch,  where  a  deep, 
clear  and  rock-bound  spring  wound  murmurously 
over  a  rocky  bed.  Two  red  spots  came  out  in  the 
old  man's  cheeks,  his  eyes  began  fairly  to  flame 
again,  his  breath  came  in  wheezy  gasps,  and  his 
old  face  pinched  up  sharp  and  sensitive  as  a 

pointer's  nose.     He  pointed  to  the  debris  of  shat- 

[188] 


TALL     THINGS 

tered  rock  about  the  spring.  "  The  wataire  fell 
over  a  cap-rock  here,"  he  said  brusquely,  the  nerv 
ous  constriction  of  his  throat  making  it  hard  for 
him  to  say  anything.  "  The  strata  underneath 
were  soft  and  had  been  worn  away  by  the  wataire. 
I  put  a  duck-nest  of  dynamite  in  there  this  morn 
ing, — and — see — there !  " 

Anybody  could  see;  the  zinc  and  lead  ores  were 
disseminated,  rich  and  warm,  in  the  loose  rocks  of 
the  out-cropping.  "  It's  a  vein  thirty  inches  thick 
and  it  runs, — it  runs  str-r-aight  through  the  Ca 
naan  Tigmores, — sometimes  sinking  many  feet 
from  the  surface, — but  always  there, — I  am  vair' 
sure  of  that, — str-r-aight  through  the  Canaan 
Tigmores —  The  old  man's  breath  began  to 

jerk  with  a  sick,  sobbing  sound. 

"  Well," — Steering  was  not  so  unaccustomed  a 
miner  by  now  but  what  the  sight  there  in  the  Gulch 
had  its  effect  upon  him, — "  Well,"  he  said  gin 
gerly,  "  if  you  are  right,  Uncle  Bernique,  if  the 
face  doesn't  cut  blind,  why,  Mr.  Crittenton  Ma 
deira  and  old  Grierson  have  a  good  thing,  haven't 
they?" 

"  Urg-h-h !  "     Old  Bernique  made  a  gnashing 
[180] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

sound  and  leaned  his  head  listeningly.  The  thud 
of  the  stream-drill  reached  them  faintly  from  its 
place  afar  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores.  "  They  come 
fas' !  "  he  said  mournfully. 

"  Wisht  I  wuz  aouter  this,"  interrupted  Piney, 
shivering. 

"  I  have  been  track'  thees  mother  lode," — began 
old  Bernique  again,  his  feverish  gaze  again  seeking 
out  Bruce, — "  I  think," — he  stopped  and  fell  to 
musing, — "  What  you  gawn  do,  Mistaire  Steer 
ing,"  he  queried  suddenly,  with  his  weary  old  head 
twisted  to  one  side,  "  what  you  gawn  do  about 
thees?" 

"  Lord,  Uncle  Bernique,  I  can't  do  anything. 
You  might  do  something  for  yourself.  You  might 
sell  your  rights  of  discovery,  might  not  you  ?  " 

"  Non !  Non !  There  is  othaire  thing, — there  is 
a  most  good  possibilitee, — thees  mother  lode,  Mis 
taire  Steering,  it  come  out, — I  think  it  come  out 
somewhere,  eh? — Mistaire  Steering,  have  you  got 
leetle  mawney?  " 

"  That's  exactly  how  much,  Uncle  Bernique,  a 
little." 

"  Mistaire  Steering,  eef  you  got  leetle  mawney 
[190] 


TAJLL     THINGS 

to  buy  leetle  land,  I  think  I  know  good  land  to 
buy." 

"  I  have  told  you  all  along  to  consider  my  money 
your  money,  Uncle  Bernique." 

"  We  must  be  vair'  quiet  about  all  thees,  Mis- 
taire  Steering, — Piney,  you  compr-r-ehend  that  we 
tr-r-us'  you,  as  I  have  always  tr-r-us'  you,  abso- 
lutement !  We  must  be  vair'  quiet.  Thees  leetle 
piece  land  run  down  close  to  the  rivaire,  below 
Poetical,  at  those  Sowfoot  Crossing,  and  eet  ees 
not  vair'  good  land  for  the  farming " 

Thud !  Thud !  The  old  man  caught  his  temples 
with  both  hands.  "  I  am  'most  craze'  by  that 
steam-drill,"  he  whispered.  "  Eet  come  so  close 
to  our  secret.  Let  us  get  away.  That  sound 
cr-r-aze  me.  Found!  Found!  Vair'  large  lode, 
Mistaire  Steering. — Sacre!  The  sound  of  that 
steam-drill  is  to  me  the  most  worse  thing.  That 
lode  run  through  and  come  out  by  the  rivaire,  eef 
I  am  not  mistake',  Mistaire  Steering.  I  go  to 
buy  that  land  to-night.  You  go  back  with  Piney, 
please  sair.  Eef  you  come  with  me,  you  excite 
the  question  and  the  price.  To  me  it  will  be  sold 

without  question.       I  am  eccentrique,  they   say. 
[191] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

You  return  to  Canaan  and  have  your  mawney 
ready  for  me,  Mistaire  Steering.  That  bat  Grier- 
son,  Mistaire  Steering !  When  I  think " 

Old  Bernique  was  still  throwing  out  riches  of 
castigation  at  Grierson,  Madeira,  himself,  fate, 
still  half  incoherent,  when  the  three  friends  at  last 
got  back  to  their  horses,  and  separated.  Down  at 
the  foot  of  the  bluff  again,  Steering,  a  little  sore- 
headed  with  the  ache  of  anticipation,  hope,  doubt, 
sat  his  horse  in  Piney's  company  and  watched  the 
old  man  ride  off  up  the  river  unattended.  Steering 
felt  excited  and  exalted  himself,  but  the  old  French 
man  was  really,  as  he  said,  "  craze'."  Piney  was 
the  only  sensible  one  left.  Piney  was  not  at  all 
enthused  and  stayed  very  quiet  until  he  parted  with 
Bruce  some  distance  out  from  Canaan.  Bruce  went 
on  back  to  town  to  wait  for  Old  Bernique  at  the 
hotel. 

Piney  took  the  path  that  led  up  to  the  bluff  be 
hind  Madeira  Place.  As  he  came  through  the 
Madeira  grounds  Crittenton  Madeira  came  out  of 
the  house  and  stood  on  the  back  porch,  regarding 
him  quizzically.  Piney  had  a  peculiar,  poorly  hid 
den  dislike  of  Madeira  that,  taken  with  the  boy's 
[103] 


TALL    THINGS 

charm   of   personality,   more   or   less   amused  the 
Canaan  capitalist. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  young  man?  " 

"  In  the  woods." 

"  Look  here,  learning  anything  when  you  are  out 
with  that  man  Steering?  " 

"  Yep." 

"  What,  for  instance?  " 

"  Not  to  talk." 

Madeira  laughed  carelessly.  "  You  go  and  get 
Miss  Madeira  to  sing,  young  Impudence,"  he  said. 
"  I'd  just  as  soon  hear  the  tenor,  too.  I  am  going 
to  rest," — he  sighed  deeply, — "  I'm  going  to  try  to 
rest  out  here  in  the  garden.  I'd  like  some  music." 

Madeira  went  to  the  garden  and  stretched  out  on 
a  bench,  the  smile  that  he  had  given  Piney  staying 
on  his  face,  crinkling  in  automatically  with  the 
grievous  strain  that  was  about  his  eyes  and  mouth 
in  these  days.  After  a  little  he  closed  his  eyes 
softly,  enjoyingly.  From  the  library  came  the 
carolling  sweetness  of  Piney's  tenor.  And  by  and 
by,  following  it,  soaring  up  with  it,  the  glorious 
fulness  of  Salome  Madeira's  velvety  soprano. 

Bruce,  far  down  the  river  road,  heard,  too. 
[193] 


Chapter  Twelve 

THE    COLOSSUS    OF    CANAAN 

A^R  Crittenton  Madeira  had  organised 
the  Canaan  Mining  and  Development 
Company  the  Canaan  Call  sent  him  in 
one  leaping,  exultant  paragraph  out  of  his  position 
as  "  our  esteemed  fellow  townsman  "  into  a  position 
of  far  more  classic  significance  by  naming  him  the 
"  Colossus  of  Canaan."  Madeira  was  a  man  of 
lightning-like  execution  of  a  plan,  once  he  had 
got  hold  of  his  plan,  and  Bruce  Steering,  sharp 
ened  by  circumstances  into  a  consideration  of  every 
chance  about  him  and  even  beyond  him,  had 
brought  Madeira  the  plan  from  far  away  New 
York.  Throwing  his  immense  energies  toward  the 
prospect  of  ore  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  bringing 
forward  every  dollar  of  his  fortunes, — as  usual  not 
so  large  as  they  were  accredited  with  being, — to 
finance  his  new  projects,  Madeira  had  accomplished 
wonders  within  an  incredibly  short  time.  There 
were  those,  unacquainted  with  the  contents  of  an 
[194] 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  CANAAN 
envelope  in  Madeira's  vest  pocket,  who  marvelled 
that  a  sharp  man  should  let  his  projects  be  entan 
gled  with  entailed  property,  but  for  the  most  part 
Canaanites  were  too  accustomed  to  follow  where 
Madeira  led  to  marvel,  or  to  ask  foolish  questions. 
Even  for  those  so  inclined  Madeira  had  good 
answers.  On  the  one  side,  he  could  show, 
from  the  progress  already  made,  that  there 
must  be  such  a  great  quantity  of  ore  in 
the  Canaan  Tigmores  that  it  would  be  possible 
to  take  fortunes  out  of  them  during  old 
Grierson's  possession  of  the  hills,  even  though  the 
old  man  lived  but  a  few  years.  On  the  other  side 
he  could  show  that  it  was  not  in  the  Canaan  Tig- 
mores  alone  that  he  was  pushing  the  search  for  ore, 
but  in  the  outlying  land  that  had  passed  into  his 
control  as  well.  It  was  true  that  he  had  put  a 
steam-drill  into  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  but  it  was 
equally  true  that  he  had  put  steam-drills  up  the 
Di  at  two  or  three  points  far  beyond  the  Tigmores. 
He  made  it  as  plain  as  day  that  the  operations  of 
the  Canaan  Mining  and  Development  Company 
would  extend  all  over  that  section,  and  that  the 

Company's  chances  could  not  be  taken  away  even 
[195] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

by  the  death  of  Grierson.     And  he  made  it  equally 
and  cheerfully  plain  that  Grierson  would  not  die. 

Out  on  the  streets  of  Canaan,  among  the  pup 
pets  who  danced  at  his  touch  upon  the  strings, 
Madeira  never  faltered  in  his  exposition  of  the 
Company's  affairs  and  enterprises,  and  in  the  Com 
pany's  offices  behind  the  Bank  of  Canaan,  his 
direction  was  steady,  resourceful  and  comforting. 
He  could  build  up  potential  profits  for  the  invest 
ing  Canaanites  and  build  down  potential  failure 
in  a  manner  so  satisfying  that  the  Canaanites 
gladly  gave  him  their  money  and  fondly  hung 
upon  him. 

It  was  Mr.  Quin  Beasley,  that  conclusive  reas- 
oner,  who  said,  "  Simlike  ef  you  talk  to  Crit  fer 
abaout  th'ee  bats  of  your  eye  he  cand  show  you 
that  ef  innybody, — don't  keer  who, — would  putt, 
wall  say, — wall,  don't  keer  haow  much  you  say, — 
as  much  as  tin  thousand, — in  the  Comp'ny  an' 
leave  it  slumber  fer  say — wall,  don't  keer  haow  long 
you  say, — as  much  as  fo',  five  months, — it  'ud  be 
wuth, — be  wuth, — wall,  I  don't  keer  to  over -fetch, 
but  I  reckin  f 'm  whut  Crit  says,  th'aint  no  tellin' 
whut  it  would  be  wuth." 

[196] 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  CANAAN 
And  it  was  the  Canaan  Call  that  endorsed  Mr. 
Madeira  in  that  emphatic  editorial,  which  is  here 
with  reproduced,  just  as  it  was  doled  out  relent 
lessly  to  the  few  Canaan  sulkers,  under  the  caption 
of 

"  IT  WILL  BE  DRAMATIC,  BY  GOSH  ! 

"When  Crit  Madeira,  the  Colossus  of  Canaan,  accom 
plishes  what  he  surely  shall  accomplish,  when  the  roar  of 
mill  machinery  begins  to  reverberate  through  the  hills  of 
the  future  Joplin,  arousing  the  vast  energies  and  resources 
of  We-all,  Pewee  and  Big  Wheat,  let  us  be  generous.  If 
there  was  a  sponge,  kicker,  shirk  or  drone,  let  us  cover  his 
selfishness  with  the  mantle  of  charity.  Leave  him  under  the 
beating  light  of  progress  to  wrestle  with  whatever  remnant 
of  a  conscience  he  may  happen  to  have.  If  he  can  stand 
by  and  coolly  watch  us  work  our  gizzards  out  for  the  com 
mon  good,  and  then  reach  out  to  share  the  fruits  of  our 
sacrifices,  energies  and  enterprise,  without  a  qualm,  we  can 
remember  that  there  are  many  things  in  this  world  worth 
far  more  than  money,  one  of  which  is  that  sense  of  having 
done  our  neighbour's  share  as  well  as  our  own.  It  will  be 
enough  for  us  to  watch  when,  bewildered  by  the  lusty  life 
and  growth  and  the  maze  of  new-made  streets  of  the  future 
city,  the  laggard  stands  debating  with  that  other  self,  that 
genius  that  has  kept  him  what  he  is.  Fancy  his  striking 
attitude,  thumbs  in  arm-pits  and  eyes  rolling  up  to  some 
tall  spire,  crying  out  to  his  other  self,  *  Thou  canst  not  say  I 
helped  do  this !  Shake  not  thy  towseled  locks  at  me ! ' — By 
gosh,  it  will  be  dramatic !  "* 

*The  author  acknowledges  a  conspicuous  indebtedness  to 
a  Southwestern  weekly  for  this  editorial, 
[107] 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
Within  a  month  after  Bruce  Steering  had  en 
tered  the  portals  of  Missouri,  Madeira  had  put 
his  first  steam-drill  into  the  hills.  Within  two  more 
weeks  he  had  put  in  another.  It  took  him  less  time 
to  do  the  things  that  other  men  think  about  and 
talk  about  and  put  off  than  any  man  Steering  had 
ever  known.  One  day,  not  so  very  long  after 
old  Bernique's  find  in  Choke  Gulch,  word  had  gone 
over  Canaan  like  an  eagle's  scream  that  ore  had 
been  struck  in  the  Canaan  Tigmores.  Old  Ber- 
nique  had  wrung  his  hands,  and  Steering  had  gone 
grimly  back  to  a  little  up-river  shack,  at  Redbud, 
below  Sowfoot  Crossing,  where  he  was  spending 
a  great  deal  of  his  time  these  later  days. 

As  the  winter  broke,  Madeira's  ability  to  seize 
the  pivotal  point  on  which  to  turn  theory  into 
practice  wrought  so  surely  and  so  swiftly  as  to  be 
inexplicable  to  anyone  unaware  of  the  fever  that 
drove  him  on.  His  first  face  of  ore  had  cut  blind, 
but  he  only  put  two  more  drills  to  work,  and  in  the 
early  spring  one  of  the  drills  struck  ore  again,  a 
small  face,  but  ore.  They  had  not  found  the  big 
lode  yet,  but  every  indication  was  that  much  to 
the  good.  The  Canaan  Call  became  so  jubilant 
[198] 


THE    COLOSSUS    OF    CANAAN 
over  the  second  find  that  even  the  sulkers  lost  sight 
of  the  fact  that  the  find  was  on  entailed  property. 
Confidence    in    Madeira    went    to    high    pitch,    a 
supreme  tension  that  a  touch  might  snap. 

All  Canaan  was  waking  up  in  these  days,  all 
Tigmore  County  was  nervous.  Town  and  county 
were  in  a  pleased,  tortured,  ante-boom  consciousness 
that,  first  thing  you  know,  there  would  be  a  new 
Canaan.  Some  new  streets  were  laid  out ;  a  number 
of  people  bought  chenille  portieres;  and  though 
Crittenton  Madeira  quietly  drew  his  money  out 
of  the  Grange,  for  other  and  weightier  uses,  the 
Grange  secured  new  capital  elsewhere  and  flour 
ished  mightily.  For  farmers  from  We-all  Prairie 
and  Pewee  and  Big  Wheat  Valley,  cotton  raisers 
from  the  "  Upper  Bottom  "  and  corn  and  cattle 
men  from  the  "  Lower  Bottom  "  came  into  Canaan 
"  to  trade,"  and  filled  the  aisles  of  the  Grange, 
gossiping,  getting  information  about  the  ore  de 
velopments,  then  crossing  swiftly  and  determinedly 
to  Madeira's  bank  to  leave  their  money  with  the 
president  of  the  Canaan  Mining  and  Development 
Company. 

Out  at  his  house,  in  his  office,  in  the  garden,  on 
[199] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

horseback,  on  foot,  Madeira  kept  his  daughter 
Sally  near  him.  He  watched  his  daughter  almost 
constantly,  just  for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her. 
As  the  girl  went  about  her  household  duties,  or 
walked  in  the  garden  with  her  long,  supple  stride,  or 
rode  the  high-tempered  horses  from  the  stable,  or 
drove  with  him,  the  fine  glow  on  her  face,  her  mag 
nificent  health  and  honesty  and  strength  radiating 
from  her,  she  was,  for  Madeira,  a  continual  justifi 
cation. 

"  Catch  me  taking  anything  away  from  a  girl 
like  that  to  give  it  to  a  damn  Yankee  like  Steer 
ing,"  he  would  tell  himself  over  and  over.  "  Won't 
she  do  the  most  good  with  it?  It  '11  be  hers  soon. 
Won't  she  do  the  most  good?  Answer  me  that, 
now." 

So  much  for  the  outside  where  Madeira  lived  in 
the  world  of  realities  and  met  the  various  demands 
of  each  day's  relations  capably  and  coolly.  Inside 
his  private  office  behind  the  bank,  at  his  desk,  he 
lived  in  another  world,  a  world  where  shadow  became 
substance,  possibility  became  actuality  and  fear 
made  facts  out  of  fancy. 

At  night,  after  Canaan  had  put  its  lights  out 
[200] 


THE    COLOSSUS    OF    CANAAN 

and  had  lapsed  into  the  shroud-like  stillness  of  a 
country  town's  sleep,  Madeira  was  there,  with  his 
ghost,  in  his  office, — figuring,  figuring.  On  the 
roll-top  of  his  desk  he  kept  a  letter  spread  out  in 
front  of  him.  It  always  happened  that  he  took 
that  letter  out  of  his  vest  pocket  for  the  purpose 
of  destroying  it,  and  it  always  happened  that  when 
he  got  up,  far  into  the  night,  he  picked  the  letter 
up  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket.  If  the  words  of 
the  letter  had  been  seared  across  eternity  with  the 
red-hot  iron  of  fate  they  could  not  have  been  more 
indestructible. 

Besides  the  letter,  Madeira  always  had  on  the 
desk  maps,  geological  surveys,  time  estimates. 
Von  Moltke  never  figured  half  so  carefully  nor  on 
half  so  many  shaky  hypotheses  as  did  Madeira  in 
his  office  during  these  nights.  He  came  to  know, 
through  awful,  blood-sweating  hours,  that  with 
so  much  blasting,  so  much  pick-and-shovel  work, 
allowing  for  so  many  back-sets  from  water  and 
blind  rock,  so  many  shifts  of  men  could  progress  to 
certain  points,  in  so  many  days.  He  sometimes 
realised  that  all  this  was  unnecessary;  that  it  was 

aging  him  and  crazing  him;  that  he  could  put 
[201] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

his  work  through  on  the  Tigmores  long  before 
word  of  old  Grierson's  death  would,  by  any  unfor- 
tuitous  accident,  leak  into  Canaan,  if  it  ever  got 
there;  that  he  would  never  have  to  resort  to  the 
subways  that  he  was  figuring  on  to  steal  the  ore 
out  of  the  Canaan  Tigmores ;  that  all  this  ceaseless, 
merciless  calculation  was  but  the  reaction  of  a  con 
science,  stalking,  gaunt  and  lunatic,  through  the 
charnel-house  of  its  own  experience.  But  for  all 
that  he  had  to  go  on  crossing  bridges  that  he  was 
never  to  reach,  covering  black  tracks  that  he  was 
never  to  make.  Often  at  his  desk  there,  his  mind 
became  strangely  obtunded  and  he  babbled  vap 
idly;  his  big  face  pinched  up  till  it  seemed  lean 
and  grey,  and  he  pitched  forward,  face  down,  upon 
the  desk. 


[202] 


Chapter  Thirteen 
MISS  SALLY  MADEIRA'S  SWEETHEART 

MISS  SALLY  MADEIRA,  trying  to 
make  her  way  down  Main  Street  one 
Saturday  afternoon,  in  the  early 
spring  of  the  year  1900,  had  to  go  very  slowly 
because  of  the  country  people  in  front  of  the 
Grange.  Occasionally  some  of  the  farm-wives 
called  to  her  shily.  The  road  was  noisy  and  dusty 
with  the  passing  of  mule-teams,  buggies,  buck- 
boards,  riders  on  horseback.  Out  of  the  continu 
ous  rattle  a  child's  voice  piped  shrilly.  The  owner 
of  the  voice  was  a  little  girl  who  wore  a  hat  with  a 
bunch  of  cherries  on  it.  She  stood  up  in  the  bed  of 
a  farm-waggon  and  screamed  at  Miss  Madeira,  who 
at  once  made  her  way  to  the  edge  of  the  side-walk 
of  broken  bricks  and  waited  for  the  little  girl's 
waggon  to  come  in  to  the  curb.  The  waggon  was 
full  of  children,  but  Miss  Madeira  was  somehow 
able  to  call  them  all  by  name. 

"  He  gimme  fifty  cents !  "  was  what  the  cherry- 
[203] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

hat  little  girl  said  immediately,  with  some  genius 
for  steering  conversation  toward  the  things  that 
interested  her. 

"  You  rich  thing ! "  cried  Miss  Madeira,  and 
then  foolishly,  and  unnecessarily,  inquired,  "  who 
is  he?" 

"  Yo'  sweetheart." 

Miss  Madeira  lowered  her  voice  in  such  a  sug 
gestive  manner  that  when  the  little  girl  spoke  again 
her  voice  was  lowered,  too. 

"  When  did  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Miss  Madeira. 

"  See  him  ev'  day.  I  cand  go  daown  to  Sow- 
foot  by  myse'f .  He's  sick."  Miss  Madeira  looked 
quickly  at  some  of  the  older  members  of  the  family 
in  the  waggon.  They  were  a  hill  farm  family  from 
Sow-foot  Crossing  neighbourhood.  "  Yep,  he's  been 
sick, — with  the  malary  simlike,"  was  what  the 
older  members  had  to  say  upon  the  subject.  Miss 
Madeira  quickly  left  the  subject  and  talked  about 
the  corn  crop  and  the  price  of  chickens  for  a  little 
while,  then  presently  went  on  down  Main  Street 
toward  her  father's  bank,  where  her  black  horses 
were  hitched. 

Far  down  Main  Street,  in  front  of  one  of  the 


SALLY  MADEIRA'S  SWEETHEART 
frame  houses  that  edged  the  street  on  either  side, 
some  children  were  enjoying  a  bonfire  of  dead 
leaves,  front  doors  were  opening  and  women  were 
coming  out  to  watch  the  fire ;  and,  by  their  interest- 
lit  eyes  and  by  what  they  called  to  each  other  across 
the  slumberous  afternoon  air,  were  showing  that 
they  were  skilled  in  getting  diversion  out  of  smaller 
things  than  bonfires.  It  was  the  neighbourhood  of 
Canaan's  biggest  and  best.  The  doors  that  had 
opened  had  shown  glimpses  of  the  finest  three-ply 
carpets  in  all  Tigmore  County,  and  though  the 
women  who  had  come  out  on  the  porches  had  gram 
matical  peculiarities  of  their  own,  they  were  dis 
tinctly  unapologetic  and  assured.  You  could 
easily  imagine  them  laughing,  with  a  consciousness 
of  advantage,  at  the  other  grades  of  grammar  and 
carpets  in  Canaan. 

"  Smells  real  good,  don't  it  ?  "  called  one  who  was 
comfortable  and  portly,  and  who  had  her  apron 
wrapped  about  her  hands,  "  always  makes  me  feel 
that  spring's  came  when  the  rakin'  and  burnin' 
begin." 

"  Mrs.  Pringle  told  me  that  they  had  some  big 

fires  aout  toward  the  Ridge  las'  night.    Burned  the 
[205] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

rakin'  aout  to  Madeira  Place.  I  missed  that. 
D'you  see  it?  I  mighta  seen  it  just  as  well's  not 
from  my  back  porch,  tew !  "  shrilled  another  woman, 
in  whose  words  a  well-defined  jealousy  was  patent, 
the  jealousy  of  the  person  whose  life  is  too  small 
for  her  to  afford  to  miss  any  of  it. 

"  Yes,  you  oughta  saw  it,"  chimed  in  another. 
"  Cert'n'y  was  no  little-small  flame.  I  could  see 
Sally  movin'  araoun'  in  the  flare.  Had  that  tramp- 
boy  taggin'  abaout  with  her.  I  declare,  if  he  di'n' 
look  like  a  gipsy ! " 

The  neighbourly  throng  was  at  this  moment 
augmented  by  the  appearance  of  two  ladies  who 
fluttered  out  on  the  porch  of  a  rose-trellised  cot 
tage,  like  small,  proud  pouter  pigeons.  They  were 
the  Misses  Marion,  twin-sisters,  quite  inseparable, 
and,  because  their  minds  had  run  in  eactly  the  same 
groove  for  all  of  their  lives  and  because  they  were 
of  about  equal  mental  readiness,  apt  to  get  the 
same  impression  at  exactly  the  same  time,  and  apt 
to  attempt  expression  in  exactly  the  same 
breath. 

Occasionally  this  was  tr}rmg,  both  to  the  Misses 

Marion    and    to   their   hearers,    and    it    was    par- 
[206] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S   SWEETHEART 
ticularly  trying  when  the  two  now  called  simultane 
ously  from  the  rose-embowered  porch  to  the  women 
in  the  neighbouring  yards: 

"  Have  you  heard " 

"  Have  you  heard " 

Miss  Shelley  Marion  turned  to  Miss  Blair  Marion 
with  delicate  courtesy :  "  Continue,  sister,"  she 
said,  just  as  Miss  Blair  said,  "  Sister,  continue." 

"Have  we  heard  what,  for  goodness'  sake?" 
snapped  one  of  the  would-be  hearers,  breaking  in 
rawly  upon  the  soft  waves  of  the  hand  and  the  im 
ploring  taps  with  which  each  of  the  two  gentle 
women  was  endeavouring  to  make  way  for  the 
other. 

"  I  continued  last  time,  sister." 

"  I  think  not,  Blair ;  I  think  I  did.    Proceed." 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  "  Miss  Blair  hav 
ing  yielded  with  great  self-rebuke  to  Miss  Shelley, 
the  question  gurgled  liquidly  from  yard  to  yard, 
like  a  small  twisting  brook. 

The  two  women  whose  yards  adjoined  the  Misses 
Marions'  yard  came  down  to  the  separating  fences 
and  leaned  their  arms  on  the  paling  rails  waitingly ; 

the  third  woman  moved  up  to  the  corner  of  her  yard 
[207] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

which  was  nearest  the  Misses  Marion.  She  was 
the  woman  who  had  deplored  missing  the  hill  fires, 
and  there  was  a  resolute  look  on  her  face. 

"  Talk  loud,  Miss  Blair,"  she  said  commandingly. 
But  before  Miss  Blair  could  get  her  mouth  open  to 
talk  at  all  there  was  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  from 
up  toward  Court  House  Square,  and  a  light  vehicle, 
drawn  by  two  powerful  Kentucky  blacks,  rolled  into 
view. 

"  Lawk,  it's  Sally  Madeira ! "  cried  Miss  Blair 
impulsively,  and  then  looked  immediately  convicted, 
for  Miss  Shelley  had  got  only  as  far  as  "  Lawk ! " 

When  the  slender  equipage,  with  its  spirited, 
long-tailed  horses,  and  its  high  springy  seat,  with 
the  erect  young  figure  on  it,  had  gone  by,  the 
women  looked  at  each  other,  with  pursed  lips  and 
knowing  eyes. 

"  There,  aint  I  been  sayin',"  cried  the  fat  one, 
"  she's  a-lookin'  peaked !  " 

Then  somebody  noticed  that  the  Misses  Marion 
were  in  the  throes  of  another  spasm  of  courtesy, 
and,  reminded  by  that  of  the  critical  juncture  where 
Miss  Blair  had  left  off  a  few  minutes  before,  one 

of  the  women  called  to  her: 
[208] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S   SWEETHEART 

"  What  news  was  that,  Miss  Blair?  Say, 
you !  Miss  Blair  (  What  news  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Blair,  having  finally  effected 
some  sort  of  affectionate  compromise  with  Miss 
Shelley,  "  why,  these  news, — they  say  that  that 
N'York  man  is  Sally  Madeira's  sweetheart, 
tew!" 

"  Lan'  alive !  I've  heard  that  m'self !  "  said  Mrs. 
Beasley,  the  wife  of  the  Grange  storekeeper.  She 
had  heard  no  such  thing,  but  Mrs.  Beasley  was  an 
idealist  of  no  mean  order,  and  she  at  once  got  a 
feeling  about  the  matter  that  was  little  short  of 
knowledge,  and  went  on  with  headlong  impetus, 
"  I've  heard  that  m'self.  Yes,  he's  her  sweet 
heart." 

"  The  men  up  to  the  Grange  said  not,  at  first." 

"  Men  never  know." 

Meantime,  out  beyond  the  town,  Miss  Madeira 
had  circled  around  to  the  river  road,  and,  coming 
up  behind  Madeira  Place,  passed  it  at  a  smart 
clip. 

Farther  along,  the  river  road  left  the  river  to 

bend  through  Poetical  on  its  little  plateau,  and  the 
[209] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

gait  at  which  Miss  Madeira  went  through  Poetical 
was  disturbing  to  the  geese  and  hogs  there.  East 
of  Poetical  she  got  back  to  the  river.  It  was  very 
still  along  the  Di.  She  could  hear  her  own  heart 
beating.  Once  it  occurred  to  her  that  life  would 
have  been  much  simpler  if  she  had  gone  to  Europe 
the  past  fall,  as  Miss  Elsie  Gossamer  had  insisted 
upon  her  doing.  Once  she  murmured,  "  It  would 
be  all  right  if  he  would  only  tell  me, — I  can't  do 
anything  until  he  tells  me — what  can  a  woman  do 
until  he  tells  her !  "  On  ahead  of  her  she  could  see 
a  little  shack  perched  up  the  bluff,  and  in  front  of 
the  shack,  on  a  log  that  served  for  a  bench,  a  man 
sat,  making  something  out  of  something.  His 
hands  were  busy. 

He  got  to  his  feet  a  little  unsteadily  as  she  came 
toward  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a 
blue  veil  across  his  eyes,  but  he  winked  it  away 
quickly  enough,  shook  the  ache  out  of  his  shoulders, 
put  down  the  shoe-string  that  he  was  making  out  of 
a  squirrel's  skin,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  shack 
waiting,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand.  He  had  on  a 
mud-stained  corduroy  hunting  suit  and  big  buck 
skin  leggings,  and  there  was  a  week's  growth  of 
[210] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S    SWEETHEART 
beard  on  his  face.     He  looked  not  unlike  a  highly 
civilised  bear,  and  he  felt  his  looks.     She  did  not 
seem  to  see  him  until  she  was  close  upon  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  was  not  expecting  to  find 
you  here,"  and  when  that  sounded  a  little  bald, 
added  quickly,  "  I  heard  that  you  were  sick 
and  I  thought  it  likely  that  you  were  up  in  Ca 
naan." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  sick,"  he  told  her,  hastening 
down  to  the  trap,  the  delicious  excitement  that 
possessed  him  well  restrained,  "  and  since  you  ' 
have  found  me  here,  won't  you  get  out  and  have 
some, — well,  let  me  see, — some  coffee  and  bacon? 
And  I  can  make  a  lovely  corn-dodger.  Also  I 
have  some  kind  of  good  stuff  in  a  can,  though  I 
can't  get  the  can  open.  Do  please  stop  and  dine." 
Steering,  sick,  gaunt,  gay,  mocking  at  hardship, 
hope  deferred  and  far-reaching  disappointment, 
was  at  his  best.  Her  eyes  slipped  away  from  his 
as  he  pressed  his  invitation.  Then  she  laughed 
softly,  with  the  little  shake  of  her  laughter  when  a 
notion  appealed  to  her  happily. 

"  I'm  going  to  accept,"  she  said,  "  I'll  cook 
things  and  you  can  eat  them." 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  I'll  make  a  sacred  duty  of  my  part,"  he 
promised  gravely ;  he  was  lifting  her  from  the 
buggy ;  her  hands  were  on  his  shoulders ;  for  a  little 
delirious  minute  she  was  in  his  arms ;  he  could  not 
keep  his  hands  from  closing  about  her  sweet  body 
lingeringly  as  he  lifted  her ;  her  eyes  were  looking 
into  his,  her  face  was  coming  down  close  to  his ;  he 
had  a  wild  fleeting  hallucination  that  she 

"  Don't  imagine,"  she  began,  and  his  senses  came 
back  to  him  and  he  set  her  down,  "  don't  imagine 
that  I  can't  cook.  Where's  your  range?  " 

He  showed  her  a  scooped-out  place  in  the  side  of 
the  bluff.  "  There  are  two  bricks  in  the  back, 
two  on  each  side  and  two  on  the  top,"  he  explained 
with  some  pride. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  brought  foolish  habits  of 
luxury  out  of  the  East  with  you,"  was  her  reply. 
She  made  him  build  her  a  fire  and  bring  some  water 
and  meal  and  then  she  took  things  entirely  out  of 
his  hands. 

"  It's  a  picnic,"  she  said.  Her  gown  she  had 
folded  back  and  pinned  up  until  a  little  tangle  of 
silk  and  lace  f  rou-f roued  beneath  it  bewilderingly ; 

her  sleeves  she  had  rolled  back  until  the  creamy 
[212] 


SALLY  MADEIRA'S  SWEETHEART 
tan  of  her  round  slim  arms  showed  to  the  elbow; 
her  hat  she  had  taken  off,  and  the  sun  danced  in  the 
gold  lustres  of  her  hair.  She  was  all  aglow;  she 
belonged  out  in  the  fresh  air  and  the  sunlight  like 
this;  she  could  stand  it;  that  dusky-gold  radiance 
played  from  her  like  a  burnish.  Steering  sat  down 
on  the  log  bench  and  watched  her,  hypnotised  by 
her  into  haunting  fancies  of  something,  somebody, 
somewhere.  She  was  one  of  those  beings  whose 
rich  magnetism  of  face  and  personality  brings 
them  close  to  you,  not  only  for  the  present,  but  also 
for  the  past,  one  of  those  people  who  are  apt  to 
make  you  feel  that  you  have  known  them  before, 
forever,  a  feeling  that  flowers  into  elusive  fra 
grances,  suggestions,  reminiscences,  flown  on  the 
first  stir  of  a  thought  to  catch  them. 

"  What  a  long  time  since  I  even  so  much  as  saw 
you,"  he  sighed  happily,  happy  because  here  before 
him  in  the  body  again  she  was  exactly  the  girl  he 
remembered,  exactly  the  girl  he  had  dreamed  of  all 
winter.  "  What  have  you  done  all  winter  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Nursed  Father.     He  has  stayed  at  home  with 
me  a  good  deal.    It  was  a  lovely  winter,  wasn't  it  ?  " 
[213] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

Steering  thought  of  the  long,  quiet,  lonely  days, 
the  weeks,  the  months  during  which  he  had  seen  her 
only  to  bow  to  her.  Then  he  thought  of  the  calen 
dar  inside  his  office.  Every  day  that  he  had  seen 
her  on  his  rare  trips  up  river  to  Canaan  was  marked 
with  an  imitation  of  the  rising  sun.  There  were 
only  eight  rising  suns  for  the  whole  winter.  Then 
he  thought  how  the  memory  of  those  sun  days  had 
stayed  with  him  and  made  him  feel  blessed.  Then 
he  answered,  "  Yes,  it  has  been  lovely, — nice,  open 
weather.  I  have  been  out  on  the  Di  in  a  skiff 
almost  every  day."  He  did  not  add  that  every  day 
his  journey  had  been  to  the  upper  water  near 
Madeira  Place ;  but  he  might  have. 

"  Once  or  twice  I  have  seen  you."  She  did  not 
add  that  she  had  stood  at  her  window,  behind  a 
partly  drawn  blind,  gazing  after  him  through  slow 
tears ;  but  she  might  have.  "  What  a  very  long 
time  indeed  since  we  saw  each  other, — and  talked 
to  each  other !  " 

"  Oh,  about  two  thousand  years,"  he  answered 
with  careful  calculation. 

"  I   wonder   if   you   remember   the   ride   across 

country  into  the  sunset?  " 

[214] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S    SWEETHEART 

Should  he  ever  forget  it?  Then  the  spring 
wind  blew  up  to  them  from  off  the  Di  with 
a  coolish,  dampening  touch.  "  What  do  you 
hear  from  Elsie?  "  he  asked,  heeding  the  wind's 
touch. 

"  She  is  in  love.  What  do  you  hear  from  Mr. 
Carington?  " 

"  That  same.  It  seems  very  right  and  fit. 
Carington  and  Elsie  are  well  mated.  The  wedding 
will  happen  in  July.  Carry  wants  me  to  come 
back  to  him  for  it." 

She  was  stirring  the  meal  and  water  together 
briskly,  with  her  back  half  turned  to  him.  At  his 
words  she  stopped  in  her  work  and  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  heart  with  her  strange  little  pushing 
gesture,  as  though  she  must  push  her  heart  down. 
"  And  you  will  go,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shan't  go." 

She  took  her  hand  down  and  laughed  lightly. 
He  could  not  hear  the  joyful  relief  in  the  laugh, 
but  she  could.  "  My,  but  you  have  become  at 
tached  to  Redbud,  haven't  you?  Hasn't  it  been 
lonely  for  you  here?  " 

"  Well,  the  cherry  hat  little  girl  up  above  Sow- 
[215] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

foot  has  been  a  comfort.     And  then  I've  studied  a 
heap." 

"Studied  what?" 

"  Mizzourah ! " 

"  Redbud  and  Sowfoot  are  good  teachers,"  she 
laughed ;  then  her  face  sobered  quickly,  "  but  I 
don't  think  you  should  stay  down  here  by  the  river 
when  you  are  ill,"  she  said.  Her  sweet,  wistful 
interest  was  balsamic  to  him.  For  a  moment  he 
tried  to  look  sicker  than  he  was. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing,  nothing,"  he  protested  in  a 
gone  voice. 

"  Yes,  it  is  something,"  she  had  the  corn-dodgers 
going  over  a  slow  fire  and  was  dubiously  regarding 
a  second  skillet  that  he  had  brought  her.  "  Don't 
you  ever  try  water  for  it?  "  she  interrupted  herself 
to  ask.  He  admitted  that  he  was  not  as  careful  of 
the  skillet  as  he  should  be,  and  she  went  back  to  her 
first  anxiety,  "  Why  do  you  stay  here  when  you  are 
ill?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  ill  a  bit,  not  really."     He  had  for 
gotten  to  be  ill.     Regarding  her  dreamily  from  his 
bench  he  was  wishing  that  the  moment  could  be 
eternity,   that   he   could   be   hungry    forever   and 
[216] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S    SWEETHEART 

that    forever    she    could    make    corn-dodgers    for 
him. 

"  I  think  you  are  sick.  Something  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  changed  his  position  a  little  on  the 
bench,  "  something  is  the  matter  with  me." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  go  on  and  say  what  ?  " 
She  put  the  skillet  on  some  of  the  coals  and  the 
coffee-pot  on  the  skillet,  being  too  busy  to  look 
around  at  him. 

"Oh!"— he  wanted  to  tell  her,  but  his  pride 
saved  him  in  time.  She  was  in  rich  in  gold  and  land 
and  cattle,  in  ore,  too  now;  and  he?  He  didn't 
know  how  he  was  going  to  fill  his  meal  sack  the  next 
time  it  was  empty.  That  was  where  matters  had 
got  with  him.  "  I  think  I  won't  go  on  and  say 
what,  after  all;  let's  not  bother.  Let's  just  be 
happy  for  the  minute.  That's  something  I  have 
learned  out  here  in  Missouri,  just  to  be  happy  when 
you  get  the  chance,  minute  by  minute,  no  matter 
what  sort  of  hours  are  to  come  after.  This,  now, 
is  so  much  more  than  I  had  hoped  for.  I  hadn't 
really  hoped  to  see  you  again  befoi 

"Before  what?" 

[217] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

"  Well,  a  fellow  can't  go  on  like  this  forever,  can 
he?  I  expect  I  am  going  to  cut  all  this." 

"  What!     And  leave  Uncle  Bernique?  " 

"  Uncle  Bernique  can  hold  the  claim  alone,  you 
know.  And  I'm  wasting  hope  and  energy  here. 
What's  the  use  in  staying  longer?  " 

She  was  very  busy  with  the  bacon  now  and  he 
did  not  see  her  face.  There  was  a  wild  quiver  on 
it,  of  grief,  fright,  dismay. 

"  You  ought  not  to  leave  Uncle  Bernique  and 
Piney,  I  am  sure  of  that,"  she  said  at  last  earnestly, 
almost  commandingly. 

"  Heigh-ho !  I  think  Bernique  is  getting  rest 
less,  too.  He  will  be  drifting  off  soon  on  that  tidal 
wave  of  ore  fever  that  comes  over  him ;  Piney  has 
been  gone  for  a  great  while.  It's  pretty  lonely. 
It's  getting  on  my  nerves.  Of  course  I  shouldn't 
pet  my  nerves  if  I  had  any  hope  about  the  run  here, 
but  I  haven't.  I  think  that  the  work  we  have  car 
ried  on  is  fairly  conclusive." 

"  But  wait  a  minute,  didn't  you  buy  this  land? 
Didn't  you  put  some  money  in  it  ?  " 

Steering   laughed   blithely.      "  Not    much,"   he 

said.    The  thing  that  made  him  laugh  was  the  fact 
[218] 


SALLY   MADEIRA'S    SWEETHEART 

that  though  it  was  not  much  it  was  all  that  he  had, 
and  it  was,  in  a  way,  amusing  to  consider  how  he 
was  to  get  away  from  Canaan.  Looking  at  Sally 
Madeira,  who  suggested  luxury  nonchalantly, 
trouble  about  ways  and  means  was  bound  to  be 
untimely  and  laughable.  Indeed,  looking  at  Sally 
Madeira  all  troubles  were  more  or  less  laughable. 

"You  haven't  gone  to  Europe?"  he  reminded 
her,  after  he  had  drunk  her  health  in  the  coffee. 

"  No !     I  haven't  gone." 

"  Are  you  going?  " 

"  Not  unless  Father's  health  improves." 

"Isn't  he  well?" 

"  No,"  her  face  clouded  sadly,  "  he  is  over 
working.  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  sorry  I  am," 
she  began,  and  faltered. 

"Sorry?  for  him?" 

"  Yes.  And  for  you.  And  for  m — and  be 
cause  things  have  come  around  like  this." 

"  Let's  not  be  sorry  just  now,"  said  Steering. 
"  Won't  you,  please,  talk  about  glad  things  now. 
It's  so  pleasant  to  have  you  here."  Since  she  was 
unhappy,  he  took  charge  of  her  unhappiness,  and 

would  not  be  serious  any  longer  about  anything. 
[219] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

When  she  brought  him  his  corn-dodger  on  a  shingle 
and  more  coffee  in  a  tin  dipper,  he  was  foolish  with 
happiness,  kept  his  own  spirits  high  and  overcame 
every  little  disposition  to  seriousness  on  her  part 
until  their  picnic  had  to  come  to  an  end,  and  she 
must  be  starting  back  down  the  river  road. 

"Do  you  feel  like  doing  something  for  me?" 
she  asked,  her  hand  in  his,  as  she  made  ready 
to  go. 

"  Something?     Everything." 

"  Then  wait  just  as  long  as  you  can,  will 
you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,  gladly,  since  you  ask  it,  just  as 
long  as  I  can."  Steering's  voice  sang  as  he 
answered. 

She  would  not  let  him  accompany  her  on  her 
homeward  journey,  but  went  on  down  the  river 
road  alone,  and  Steering  returned  to  the  shack,  and 
carefully  measured  the  amount  left  in  his  meal  sack, 
and  carefully  counted  the  money  in  his  wallet. 
There  was  just  about  enough  in  the  sack  to  last 
ten  days,  flanked  by  the  potatoes  and  the  bacon, 
and  there  was  so  little  in  the  wallet  that  any  kind  of 

emotion  about  it  seemed  a  waste.     Still,  he  did  not 
[220] 


SALLY    MADEIRA'S    SWEETHEART 
appear  to  appreciate  the  extremity  of  the  situa 
tion  as  yet.     His  face  was  all  lit  up  and  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  pleased  him. 

"  I  will  wait,  just  as  long  as  I  can,"  he  repeated 
at  the  end  of  his  calculations,  "  and  I  can  till  the 
meal  gives  out." 


[221] 


Chapter  Fourteen 

WHEN    THE    MEAL    GAVE    OUT 

STEERING  sat  on  his  bunk  in  his  shack 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head  in  his 
hands,  and  his  eyes  upon  an  empty  bag  that 
hung  from  the  bough  of  a  weeping-willow  tree. 
He  had  just  written  Carington  to  explain  that  it 
could  not  be  said  that  he  had  conquered  Missouri, 
and  that  he  was  leaving  next  day  for  Colorado  to 
try  his  luck  at  gold  on  the  Cripple  Creek  circuit. 
He  had  not  explained  to  Carington  that  he  would 
walk  the  greater  part  of  the  way.  By  some  strange 
perversity  of  pride  a  man  never  does  explain  a 
thing  of  that  kind  to  anybody,  least  of  all  to  Car 
ington,  best  friend  and  close  sympathiser. 

Arrangements  for  his  journey  were  about  com 
plete.  Before  he  had  left  New  York  he  had  turned 
everything  into  ready  cash  that  could  be  so  turned, 
so  that  even  when  he  first  reached  Missouri  his 
personal  effects  had  not  made  travel  a  burden  to 
him.  During  the  past  weeks  all  the  balance  of  his 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 
belongings  that  possessed  any  negotiability  what 
soever  had  been  turned  into  meal.  And  his  meal 
sack  was  empty !  By  no  sort  of  foreknowledge  can 
a  man  accustomed  to  enough  money  for  current 
expenses, — a  goodly  budget  as  recognised  by  the 
class  of  which  Steering  was  an  exemplar, — imagine, 
during  his  easy  circumstances,  how  he  would  feel 
if  ever  things  should  so  go  against  him  that  he 
would  be  left  staring  into  an  empty  meal  sack. 
Steering  felt  an  awkward  incompetence  to  realise 
the  case  now.  He  had  looked  at  the  sack  at  close 
range,  patted  it,  as  though  to  mollify  its  conse 
quences  to  him,  pooh-poohed  it,  taken  it  philosophi 
cally,  taken  it  smilingly,  but  he  had  been  all  the 
time  unable  to  get  his  eyes  off  it,  even  though  he 
had  finally  carried  it  down  to  the  river's  edge  and 
hung  it  upon  the  bough  of  the  weeping  willow  tree. 
His  eyes  were  still  upon  it,  he  was  still  regarding 
it  at  long  range,  through  the  shack  door,  getting 
the  foreshorten  of  it,  getting  the  middle  distance, 
getting  the  perspective,  utterly  unable  to  stop  his 
ceaseless  staring  into  the  emptiness  of  it,  stop 
wondering  what  next  and  how  next. 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  shack  and 
[223] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

looked  out.  By  and  by  it  occurred  to  him  that  the 
case  would  be  much  worse  if  there  were  anyone 
besides  himself  concerned.  All  the  vague  fleeting 
sympathies  that  had  ever  been  aroused  within  him 
by  newspaper  stories  of  starving  families,  the 
nearest  he  had  ever  come  to  the  actuality  of  starv 
ing  families,  quivered  and  stirred  within  him.  The 
first  thing  he  knew,  he  was  feeling  infinitely  relieved 
that  he  had  no  starving  family.  He  had  a  sensitive 
and  active  imagination,  and,  as  he  pictured  the 
hungry  little  children  that  he  did  not  have,  tears 
of  gratitude  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  blew  gay 
kisses  to  those  airy  little  folks. 

It  was  glorious  weather.  Wild  spring  flowers 
were  abundant,  and  there  were  cheerful  whiskings 
among  the  trees  where  the  birds  and  squirrels  were 
busy  again.  The  young  shoots  strained  with  the 
urge  of  the  sap,  making  little  popping  noises. 
Steering  started  now  and  again  and  held  his  head 
waitingly.  He  had  been  watching  and  hoping  for 
Piney  for  days,  and  was  on  the  alert.  Every  noise, 
however,  resolved  itself  into  the  noise  of  bird, 
squirrel,  or  sapling.  There  was  never  the  voice 
nor  the  footfall  of  the  human.  Once  that  very 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 

afternoon,  he  had  been  so  sure  that  he  had  heard 
Piney's  pony  up  on  the  bluff  that  he  had  gone  up 
there  searchingly,  joyfully.  But  except  for  a 
little  scatter,  that  he  took  to  be  the  lift  of  a  covey 
of  quail  somewhere  off  in  the  Gulch  bushes,  not  a 
sound  or  sign  came  up  to  the  bluff.  Steering 
mourned  for  Piney.  If  the  tramp-boy  had  not 
gone  away,  things  might  have  been  more  bearable. 
But  the  lad's  jealousy  and  his  love  for  Steering 
were  in  battle  royal  now,  and  Piney  kept  far  from 
his  hero,  on  the  misty  hills.  Uncle  Bernique  was 
off  on  the  hills,  too,  almost  all  the  time;  at  the 
moment  of  this  present  crisis  Bernique  had  been 
away  for  days.  It  was  the  merciless  loneliness  of  the 
effort  there  at  Redbud  that  had  been  most  effective 
in  dulling  Steering's  endurance.  If  he  had  been 
less  lonely  he  might  have  devised  ways  of  standing 
Missouri  yet  longer.  Up  at  Dade  farm  they  kept 
telling  him,  when  he  went  up  there  for  one  of  his 
visits  to  the  little  girl  with  the  cherries  on  her  hat, 
that  he  had  "  malary."  It  did  not  seem  to  him  a 
very  able  diagnosis,  but,  as  he  had  admitted  to  Miss 
Madeira,  something  was  the  matter  with  him,  and 

it  had  now  become  his  notion  that  the  quicker  he  got 
[Kfr] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

out  of  Missouri  the  quicker  he  would  be  cured  of 
the  something.  He  was  all  ready  to  commence  his 
treatment;  he  had  corn-dodgers  for  supper  that 
night,  and  for  breakfast  next  morning,  and  with  the 
morning  sun  he  meant  to  travel  on.  The  only 
reason  that  he  did  not  start  now,  this  minute,  was 
because — well,  she  had  come  up  the  river  road  about 
this  hour  once,  and  he  was  waiting.  Circumstanced 
as  he  was  now,  with  the  only  three  people  whom  he 
could  count  as  friends  in  Missouri  almost  always 
away  from  him,  life  had  come  to  mean  little  but 
this  feverish,  alert  waiting.  He  went  out  and  sat 
down  by  the  shivering  Di  for  his  very  last  wait  for 
any  of  the  three. 

It  was  there  that  old  Bernique  came  upon  him. 
Steering  was  shivering  a  little,  too. 

"  Dieu !  You  have  the  malaria !  "  was  the 
Frenchman's  greeting. 

"  Go  'long,  I  have  no  such  thing ;  I'm  only  as 
lonely  as  the  devil."  Steering  got  up  and  shook 
hands  with  the  old  man  with  so  much  energy  that 
Bernique  made  a  grimace  of  pain.  "  Come  up  here 
and  talk,"  cried  Steering,  his  eagerness  to  hear  the 

sound  of  a  human  and  friendly  voice  making  him 
[226] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 

overlook  the  excitement  under  which  Bernique 
laboured.  He  tied  Bernique's  horse  to  a  bush  and 
drew  the  old  man  up  the  bluff.  "  Where  have  you 
been  this  time?  Where  is  Piney?  Hello!  what's 
the  matter  with  you  anyhow?  struck  another 
lode?  " 

Old  Bernique  spread  out  his  palms  avertingly. 
"  You  go  fas',"  he  protested.  "  Wait,  I  beg.  I 
have  again  had  those  exper-r-ience  that  so  much 
disturb  me.  But  no,  I  have  not  found  anothaire 
lode,  though  I  have  been  on  the  hills  vair'  long 
time.  Thees  day  I  come  a-r-round  by  the  way  of 
Canaan.  At  the  pos'-office  I  am  stop'."  The  old 
man  was  talking  now  with  his  eyes  burning  into 
Steering's  eyes,  an  expression  of  horror  flattening 
his  face ;  he  held  the  four  fingers  of  one  lean  hand 
pressed  to  his  mouth,  so  that  his  words  came  out 
inarticulate  and  broken,  though  they  seemed  to 
scorch  his  throat  like  balls  of  fire.  "  At  the  pos'- 
office  one  say  to  me,  *  Here  is  lettaire  for  you ! '  I 
take  the  lettaire  and  read.  .  .  Now,  I  ask  you, 
Mistaire  Steering,  to  take  it  and  read."  Bernique 
drew  forth  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it 

into  Steering's  hand  with  a  finely  dramatic  ges- 
[227] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

ture.  He  had  the  appreciation  of  his  race  for 
climax. 

The  letter,  Steering  saw  at  once,  was  in  the  same 
gnarled  handwriting  as  that  letter  which  Crittenton 
Madeira  had  given  him  to  read  on  the  first  day  of 
his  arrival  in  Canaan,  and  its  contents  made  evident 
the  same  gnarled  personality  that  had  been  made 
evident  by  that  first  letter. 

"  Read  it  aloud,"  said  Bernique,  and  Steering 
read: 

" '  Deep  Canyon,  Colorado,  September  23rd, 
1899,'  hey !  what's  the  matter  with  the  date,  where's 
the  slow-boy  been?  " 

"  Read  on,  Mistaire  Steering,"  said  Bernique 
grimly.  But  Steering  looked  at  the  post-mark  on 
the  envelope  in  his  hand  before  he  read  on. 

"Post-mark's  dated  April  23rd,  1900— 
why " 

"  Read  on !  "  cried  old  Bernique.  "  It  is  ex 
plain',"  and  Steering  read  on. 

"  '  My  dear  Placide : — You    and    I    were    good 

friends  in  the  days  that  we  spent  in  prospecting 

over  the  Canaan  hills,  and,  even  though  I  incurred 

your  displeasure  when  I  abandoned  the  hills,  I  am 

[228] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 
depending  upon  the  old  friendship  to  influence  you 
to  do  a  last  friendly  act  for  me.  It  is  not  neces 
sary  for  me  to  acquaint  you  with  the  detail  of 
humiliations  and  persecutions  to  which  I  have  been 
subjected  by  the  man  of  whom  I  was  once  so  foolish 
as  to  borrow  money,  any  more  than  it  is  necessary 
for  me  to  condone  to  you  the  desire  that  has  de 
veloped  within  me  to  make  him  bite  the  dust,  even 
as  he  has  made  me  bite  it.  I  am  not  remorseless  in 
this.  I  gave  him  his  chance  to  escape  me,  but, 
quite  as  I  anticipated,  he  has  fallen  into  the  trap 
that  I  set  for  him;  else  would  you  not  be  read 
ing  this  letter  to-day,  nearly  a  year  after  it  was 
written. 

"  '  Look  close  now,  friend  Placide.  Nearly  a 
year  prior  to  the  date  that  you  will  get  this,  that  is 
to  say  on  the  23rd  of  last  September,  the  same  day 
that  I  write  this  letter  to  you,  I  wrote  Crittenton 
Madeira  that  I  should  be  dead  when  my  letter 
reached  him,  dead  under  an  assumed  name,  in  a 
strange  land.  It  was  the  God's  truth.  I  was 
dead  when  the  letter  reached  him.  You  are  read 
ing  a  letter  from  the  dead  now,  friend  Placide.' ' 
Steering  stopped  for  a  moment  with  a  little  shiver, 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

but  Bernique  urged  him  on,  and  he  read  again — 
"  '  Placide,  in  that  letter  to  Madeira  were  my  in 
structions  to  turn  over  the  Canaan  Tigmores  to 
Bruce  Steering,  because,  I  being  dead,  the  hills 
were  due  to  pass  on  to  my  heir.  Well,  Placide,  has 
Madeira  done  that?  Has  he  carried  out  my  in 
structions?  Has  he  fulfilled  his  trust?  Has 
Steering  possession  of  the  Canaan  Tigmores  ? 

"  '  Like  the  thief  that  he  is,  Madeira  has  not 
done  his  part.  Had  he  done  it,  you  would  not  be 
reading  this  letter  to-day.  I  wrote  it  and  placed 
it  with  the  clerk  of  Snow  Mountain  County,  the 
county  in  which  I  died,  to  be  mailed  to  you  on  the 
£3rd  of  April,  1900,  only  in  case  no  inquiry  had 
ever  come  from  Madeira  to  verify  my  death.  No 
inquiry  has  ever  come !  So  the  clerk  of  the  county, 
who  is  my  executor,  mails  this  letter  to  you.  This 
letter,  Placide,  is  to  attest  that  for  seven  months 
Crittenton  Madeira  has  been  in  unlawful  possession 
of  the  Canaan  Tigmores,  defrauding  my  heir  and 
holding  land  under  my  name  after  being  advised 
of  my  death  and  of  the  means  of  verifying  the 
advice.  There  are  now,  in  the  keeping  of  the  clerk 
of  Snow  Mountain  County,  two  sealed  envelopes, 
[230] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 
to  be  delivered  by  him,  the  one  to  you,  the  one  to 
Crittenton  Madeira.  Madeira's  has  never  been 
called  for.  See  that  yours  is.  In  it  you  will  find 
the  credentials  of  my  identity,  my  sworn  state 
ments,  and  the  documents  that  prove  my  late  en- 
cumbency  of  the  entail.  I  am  buried  in  the  pau 
per's  field  in  the  cemetery  of  Deep  Canyon.  The 
stone  slab  that  I  have  directed  to  be  put  over  me 
bears  the  inscription,  "  James  Gray,  Died  Septem 
ber  23,  1899." 

"  '  Get  your  proofs  together,  Placide,  and  carry 
them  to  the  defrauded  heir.  I  have  not  forgotten 
the  letters  that  I  received  from  him,  nor  his  young 
eagerness  to  get  at  the  land  that  is  now  his  and 
that  should  have  been  his  nearly  a  year  ago.  Put 
the  proofs  before  him.  And  I  pray  that  he  may  be 
quick  and  sure  to  deal  out  judgment  and  retribu 
tion.  He  is  my  kinsman.  Let  him  for  me,  as  well 
as  for  himself,  wield  the  lash  that  I  put  in  his 
hands. 

"  '  Do  these  things  for  me,  friend  Placide,  and 
believe  that  even  in  the  grave,  I  remain, 
«  <  Very  gratefully  yours, 

"  '  BRUCE  GRIERSON.'  " 
[231] 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
The  letter  fell  from  Steering's  hand  and  fluttered 
to  the  ground,  while  he  sat  with  his  hands  hanging 
limply  from  his  knees  for  a  moment.  "  Grierson 
is  dead !  Grierson  is  dead !  "  he  repeated.  The 
funereal  words  rang  through  his  ears  like  a  grand 
Praise-God.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to  be  sorry 
and  that  he  was  inexpressibly  glad,  not  because  the 
grim  old  man  was  dead — dead,  with  his  malevolence 
reaching  out  toward  Madeira,  spinning  and  twist 
ing  like  a  great  cobweb  snare  from  the  grave — but 
because  of  what  must  now  happen,  because  vistas 
of  wonderful  beauty  were  opening  up  through  the 
long  shadows  of  the  Tigmores,  because  if  the  end 
had  come  to  the  house  of  Grierson,  beginning  had 
come  to  the  house  of  Steering.  Life,  big,  splendid, 
stretched  out  before  him.  Old  Bernique  had  risen 
and  was  pacing  the  banks  of  the  Di  nervously. 
Steering,  too,  got  to  his  feet.  Going  down  to 
Bernique,  he  took  the  old  man's  hands  in  his. 
Neither  heard  a  little  rustle  up  the  bluff  in  the  leafy 
bushes. 

"  Oh,    Uncle    Bernique ! "    said    Steering,    and 
stopped  because  of  the  wild  sound  of  his  own  voice. 
He  saw  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for  him  to  try 
[232] 


\VHEN    THE    MEAL   GAVE    OUT 
to  talk  with  his  mind  in  that  high  tremulous  whirl. 
The  old  man  clung  to  him,  silent,  too,  for  a  teeming 
moment. 

"  Now  God  above,  why  not  Crit  Madeira  tell 
you  that  tr-r-ue  way  of  things  ?  "  shouted  Bernique 
at  last  fiercely.  "  Why  not?  " 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  Steer 
ing  bearing  up  the  old  man,  who  clutched  him 
feverishly.  When  the  Frenchman  began  to  talk 
again  his  teeth  were  chattering.  "  Why  not  ? 
Hein?  Because  he  t'ief.  But  God  above!  We 
got  those  proof!  Dead  for  mont's.  And  Ma 
deira  know  it!  The  Teegmores  are  yours  for 
mont's,  Mistaire  Steering !  And  Madeira  know  it ! 
We  put  that  fine  man  where  he  belong.  We  jail 
him!  He  t'ief!  We  r-r-uin  him,  as  he  would 
r-r-uin  you ! " 

"  Ruin  him ! "  Bruce  said  the  words  over 
measuredly.  "  We  can  do  it  easily.  Everything 
he  has  has  gone  into  the  company  that  is  getting 
its  chief  encouragement  out  of  the  Tigmores.  It 
will  be  easy  to  ruin  him." 

"  Yes,  God  above,  it  will  be  easy !     We  r-r-ruin 

him.      We    do    that    thing    quick    and    glad." 
[233] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

Bernique  slid  his  lean  hands  up  Steering's  arms  and 
held  to  him. 

"  Wait !  Wait !  "  The  Frenchman's  convulsive 
anger  received  a  sudden  check  by  the  sound  of 
Steering's  voice.  He  clung  more  tightly  to  Steer- 
ing's  arms  as  he  looked  into  Steering's  face,  then 
shrank  back  helplessly. 

"  My  God !  "  said  the  old  man,  "  I  forgot !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Steering,  no  hesitation  in  his 
voice.  "  Yes,  you  forgot  her.  We  must  not  do 
that,  you  know." 

After  a  while  they  sat  down  and  talked  it  over  at 
length  from  beginning  to  end,  and  then  back  again, 
from  end  to  beginning.  Up  in  the  Tigmores  Grit 
Madeira's  drills  beat  and  bore  at  the  heart  of  the 
earth,  deeper,  deeper;  by  the  Redbud  shack,  the 
two  men,  on  the  ground,  bore  into  Madeira's 
trickery,  deeper,  deeper.  By  the  light  of  that 
torch  from  the  Rockies,  they  followed  the  twist 
ing  trail  all  the  way  from  inception  to  finish.  The 
tortuous,  underhand  curve  of  it  now  and  then 
looked  like  the  self -deceptive  work  of  luna 
tic  cunning.  As  they  talked  about  it,  they 
talked  too  earnestly  for  the  little  whisking 
[234] 


WHEN    THE    MEAL   GAVE    OUT 
movements  in  the  growth  up  the  bluff  to  reach 
their  ears. 

"  At  least,"  cried  old  Bernique  at  last,  "  at 
least  the  Teegmores  are  yours!  At  last!  At 
last!" 

At  last!  At  last!  Steering's  eyes  were  travel 
ling  the  long  tumbling  Tigmore  line.  "  If  they 
are,"  he  said  in  that  musing  way  he  had  developed 
within  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour,  "  if  I  take  the 
Tigmores  now,  Uncle  Bernique,  I'll  pull  Madeira's 
house  about  him.  That  company  of  his  is  not  so 
secure  that  it  could  stand  a  blow  at  its  head.  If  I 
take  the  Tigmores, — Uncle  Bernique,  listen  a 
minute,"  he  was  pleading,  "  she  has  been  used  to 
much  all  her  life.  I  can't  take  her  father's  fortune 
away  from  him.  Don't  you  see  that?  I  can't  do 
anything.  You  understand?  "  he  was  command 
ing.  Bernique  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  God    above,    you    mean "    The    thought 

snapped  in  the  old  man's  brain,  the  words  stuck  in 
his  throat. 

"  I  mean  that  we  must  leave  things  as  they  are. 
I  can't  ruin  her  father.  That's  all  I  mean !  " 

Bernique  doubled  up  both  fists.     "  I'll  see  him 
[235] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

damn'  before  he  shall  keep  those  Teegmores!  I 
can  r-ruin  him !  "  But  Bruce  caught  the  old  man's 
arm  in  a  grip  that  hurt.  When  Bernique  spoke 
again  it  was  to  say  breathlessly,  "  You  take  the 
Teegmores,  Mistaire  Steering,  and  protect  Ma 
deira's  fortune.  You  can  do  that  easy." 

"  I  know.  It  looks  easy.  But  think  back  a 
little.  Madeira  is  sure  to  fight.  Grierson's  death 
occurred  months  ago  under  an  assumed  name.  To 
prove  that  he  died  we  must  prove  when  he  died, 
where  he  died  and  who  he  was.  To  prove  all  that 
is  to  let  the  light  in  upon  dark  places.  I  hardly  see 
how  the  light  can  be  let  in,  Uncle  Bernique,  without 
cutting  Madeira  out  sharp  and  keen  as  a  rascal. 
Madeira  would  never  allow, — at  this  juncture,  he 
couldn't  allow  us  to  establish  my  claim  to  the  Tig- 
mores  on  my  word  and  yours.  He  has  done  un 
wise,  crazy  things  already.  He  would  fight  us. 
I  know  it,  you  know  it.  We  could  win.  But  where 
would  our  victory  leave  him,  Uncle  Bernique? 
Ah,  you  see?  " 

The  old  man  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 
He  clung  close  to  Steering.  "  Oh,  my  God !  "  he 

moaned,  "  I  will  not  let  this  thing  be." 
[236] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 

"  Yes,  you  will  let  it  be !  It  is  my  affair  even 
more  than  it  is  yours.  You  will  do  as  I  say  about 
it,  Uncle  Bernique.  Here  and  now,  you  shall 
swear  this  oath  with  me:  I  by  my  love  for  Sally 
Madeira,  you  by  your  love  for  Piney's  young 
mother,  that  never,  so  help  us  God,  shall  one  or  the 
other  of  us  carry  word  of  these  matters  to  anyone, 
least  of  all  to  Crittenton  Madeira  or  his  daughter 
Salome ! " 

The  old  man's  breath  came  gustily,  his  cheeks 
flamed,  the  hectic  burned  like  fire  in  his  shrivelled 
cheeks.  He  loosed  his  clinging  hold  and  tried  to 
shake  Bruce  off. 

"  Swear,"  Bruce  decreed  again,  his  powerful 
grip  on  the  old  man,  his  eyes  half  shut,  "  I  by  my 
love  for  Sally  Madeira,  you  by  your  love  for 
Piney's  young  mother !  Swear ! "  He  held 
up  his  own  right  hand,  and  Bernique  said 
brokenly  : 

"  God  above,  I  swear !  "  The  old  man  was  cry 
ing.  Neither  heard  the  swish  in  the  bluff  growth, 
neither  saw  the  brave  light  in  the  two  eyes  that 
peered  through  the  bushes. 

"  Why  now,  everything  is  all  right,"  cried  Bruce. 
[237] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Are  you  going  on  into  Canaan  to-night,  or  shall 
you  sleep  here  with  me?  I  think  that  I  shall 
take  the  skiff  now  and  go  up  toward  Madeira 
Place,  then  drift  back  down-stream,  a  sort  of 
good-bye  journey.  What  will  you  do  mean 
time? " 

Old  Bernique  hardly  knew.  He  was  sore,  be 
wildered.  He  thought  he  might  spend  the  night 
on  the  hills,  then  again  he  might  come  back  to  the 
shack  for  the  night.  He  wanted  to  go  into  Choke 
Gulch  first  thing. 

Bruce  pushed  away  in  the  skiff  through  the 
swollen  Di.  Bernique  got  his  horse  and  started 
off,  climbing  the  yellow  road  up  the  bluff  slowly, 
heading  toward  Choke  Gulch.  As  he  neared  the 
top,  he  lifted  his  head  and  saw  Piney  and  the  pony 
outlined  on  the  bald  summit  of  the  bluff.  The  boy 
made  a  trumpet  of  his  hands  and  shouted  to 
Bernique. 

"  Hurry !  For  God's  sake !  So  I  cand  talk  to 
you ! "  Piney's  was  a  reckless  and  impassioned 
young  figure,  cut  out  against  the  sky  sharply,  on  a 
pony  that  danced  like  a  dervish. 

The  old  man  nodded,  with  a  flash  of  pleasure  at 
[238] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 
the  sight  of  the  boy,  then  let  his  head  fall  wearily 
upon  his  breast.  He  felt  very  powerless.  When 
he  reached  Piney's  side  he  put  out  his  hand  and 
held  to  the  boy's  hand  as  though  he  found  its 
warmth  and  firmness  sustaining. 

"  Let's  git  into  the  timber,"  said  Piney,  and 
they  rode  forward  a  little  way  quite  silent.  "  I 
don'  want  Mist'  Steerin'  to  look  back  an'  see  me 
here,"  the  boy  explained.  In  the  growth  where  the 
hills  began  to  roll  down  toward  Choke  Gulch, 
Piney  stopped  short,  with  a  detaining  hand  upon 
Bernique's  bridle. 

"  I  hearn,"  he  said.  His  young  face  was  so 
grey  and  solemn  that  Bernique  regarded  him  ques- 
tioningly.  "  I  was  simlike  half  asleep  up  there  in 
the  bushes.  Whend  you  begand  to  tell  your  story, 
I  waked  up  an'  I  listened.  I  hearn  all  you  said  an' 
all  he  said.  Ev'thing.  Unc'  Bernique,  you  cayn't 
tell  nobody!  Mist'  Steerin',  he  cayn't  tell  no 
body! — but  Me!"  the  boy  was  breathing  harder, 
his  face  was  growing  greyer,  "  Unc'  Bernique,  I'm 
f'm  the  hills,  an'  not  like  them,"  the  blood  began 
suddenly  to  come  back  to  his  lips ;  he  raised  in  his 
stirrups  and  slashed  at  the  branches  of  a  black-jack 
[239] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

tree  with  his  riding  switch,  as  though  he  cut  a  vow 
across  the  air,  higli  up.  "  But  what  I  can,  I  will !  " 
he  cried,  and  clenched  his  hands  proudly.  "  Fer 
her  an' — an'  f  er  him !  "  he  choked.  Whatever  he 
meant  to  do,  his  young  passion  for  Salome  Ma 
deira  and  his  young  affection  for  Steering,  his 
hero,  leaped  out  on  his  face  whitely.  "  She  loves 
him,  too,  Unc'  Bernique ! "  he  cried  in  a  final, 
broken  crescendo. 

Old  Bernique  stared  at  the  boy  in  exaltation. 
"  God  above !  "  he  shouted,  "  if  that  is  it,  it  begins 
to  be  hope  in  my  old  breast !  All  may  come  right 
yet,  and  no  oaths  broken !  " 

"  None  broke !  "  cried  Piney.  "  One  more  took ! 
I'm  a-ridin'  saouth,  to  Madeira  Place,  Unc' 
Bernique ; "  he  gathered  up  the  reins  from  his 
pony's  neck, — "  I'm  a-goin'  to  Miss  Sally  Madeira 
to  tell  her  abaout  Mist'  Steerin' ;  "  he  was  blind 
with  hot,  young  tears.  "  She'll  do  the  rat  thing 
whend  she  knows,  Unc'  Bernique ;  "  he  had  put  the 
pony  about, — "  I'll  see  you  on  the  hills  in  the 
mornin' !  "  he  was  gone  down  the  yellow  road  like  a 
winged  Mercury. 

On  the  hills  behind  him,  Old  Bernique,  compre- 
[240] 


WHEN  THE  MEAL  GAVE  OUT 
bending  and  envying,  locked  his  hands  on  his 
saddle-horn  in  a  vehement  tension.  His  lips 
moved,  and  what  he  said  seemed  to  float  out 
after  the  flying  figure  of  the  boy  like  a  bene 
diction. 


[241] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

A    MISTAKE    SOMEWHERE 

THE  afternoon  of  that  day  was  golden 
out  at  Madeira  Place.      Through  the 
kitchen  windows  the  sun  streamed  in,  in 
broad,  unfretted  bands  of  light.     Just  beyond  the 
window  the  crab-apple  trees  and  the  quince  trees 
and  the  pear  trees  and  the  damson  trees  were  riot 
ing  in  blossom. 

The  kitchen  itself  was  a  place  to  take  comfort  in. 
By  a  table  sat  fat  black  Chloe,  seeding  raisins,  when 
she  was  not  asleep.  Before  another  table  stood 
Sally  Madeira,  her  brown,  round  arms  bared  to 
the  elbow,  flapping  cake  batter  with  a  wooden  pad 
dle.  With  her  sense  of  eternal  fitness  the  girl  was 
a  fine  housekeeper  as  easily  as  she  was  a  sweet 
singer  and  a  good  horsewoman.  She  had  kept  the 
past  beautifully  intact  in  the  old  brick-floored 
room.  Overhead  hung  strings  of  red  peppers, 
streaks  of  scarlet  on  the  heavy  black  rafters.  Little 
white  sacks  of  dried  things,  peas  and  beans  and 

[242] 


A  MISTAKE  SOMEWHERE 
apples,  depended  from  hooks.  Against  the  walls 
were  quaint  old  tin  safes,  their  doors  gone,  their 
shelves  covered  with  dark  blue  crockery.  The  tin 
and  brass  stuff  shone  brightly.  On  a  low  shelf 
stood  a  great  piggin  of  water,  a  fat  yellow  drink 
ing  gourd  sticking  out  of  it.  The  whole  picture 
was  a  kitchen  pastel,  delicately  toned,  a  kitchen  of 
the  long  ago,  Sally  Madeira  fitting  into  it  exquis 
itely,  re-establishing  the  stately  domesticity  of  an 
old  regime  by  her  fine  adaptability  and  apprecia 
tion. 

Chloe  brought  the  raisins  over  to  Miss  Madeira 
at  last,  and  let  them  drop  slowly  into  the  crock, 
watching  carefully  for  stray  bits  of  stem. 

"  Simlike  nowadays  ef  he  teef  go  agin  a  hard 
ness  spile  he  tas'  fuh  de  cake,"  she  said  anxiously. 

"  We  do  have  to  humour  his  poor  appetite,  don't 
we,  Chloe?  Never  mind,  he'll  be  better  soon,  I 
hope." 

"  Whut  madder  wid  he,  Miss  Sally,  innyhow, 
Honey?" 

"  Just  overwork,  I  think,  Chloe.  Works  all  the 
time ;  in  the  office  now,  bent  double  over  his  desk." 

The  darky  shuffled  restlessly  on  her  flat  feet, 
[243] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Simlike  to  me  he  pester'd.  I  d'n  know.  Miss 
Sally,  who  else  gwine  eat  dishyer  cake  tumorreh, 
Honey?" 

"  I'm  not  expecting  any  company  at  all,  Chloe. 
Father  isn't  really  well  enough  to  care  to  talk  to 
people." 

"  Miss  Honey,  simlike  de  house  gittin'  mighty 
lonesome  nowadays.  Taint  like  it  uster  be." 

"  Do  you  feel  it,  Chloe  ?  Do  you  know  I've 
grown  to  like  it  better  quiet."  The  girl's  voice 
was  wistful,  she  let  the  batter  trickle  recklessly 
while  she  gazed  off  out  of  window.  Then  she 
sighed  and  began  to  beat  the  batter  very  hard. 

"  Miss  Honey-love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Chloe." 

"  That  tha'  Mist'  Steerin'  aint  ben  come  no  mo' 
fuh  gre't  while,  air  he?  " 

"  No." 

"  Samson  he  say  he  gwine  ride  down  by  Redbud 
this  evenin'." 

"  Well,  Chloe,  I'm  sorry  that  I  can't  send  an  in 
vitation  to  your  favourite,  but  I'm  afraid  Father 
isn't  well  enough — oh,  there's  Piney,  Chloe !  " 

The  boy  had  come  up  the  bridle-path  slowly,  his 
[244] 


A    MISTAKE    SOMEWHERE 

mission  weighting  him  and  making  him  languid. 
At  the  latticed  porch  he  jumped  to  the  ground, 
turned  the  pony's  nose  into  the  grass  and  came  into 
the  kitchen. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Sally,  Hi,  Chloe.  Cand  I  have 
a  drink,  please'm,  Miss  Sally  ?  " 

He  drank  long  and  greedily  from  the  gourd 
dipper,  so  long  that  Sally  Madeira  turned  to  him 
laughingly  at  last.  "  Well,  Piney,  son,  got  Texas 
fever?  "  she  began,  and  then,  being  quick  of  wit, 
saw  at  once  that  the  boy's  pallor,  his  thirst,  his 
absorption  meant  something  especial.  "  I'm  glad 
you  came,  Piney,"  she  went  on  capably,  and  gave 
the  batter  paddle  to  Chloe.  "  I've  been  wanting 
to  see  you  all  day  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you. 
Let's  go  out  under  the  crab-apple  tree." 

She  took  off  the  great  apron  and  led  the  way 
from  the  kitchen,  the  boy  following  her  with  drag 
ging  feet.  Under  the  crab-apple  tree  she  drew 
him  down  upon  a  bench  beside  her.  The  orchard 
blooms  shut  them  in  close.  The  stillness  was  un 
broken  save  for  the  warm  sibilant  droning  of  the 
insect  life  in  the  air.  The  shadows  on  the  orchard 

grass  were  like  lace- work. 

[245] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

"  Now,  Piney,  lad,"  began  Miss  Madeira  at 
once,  "  what's  the  trouble  ?  "  Her  voice  sounded 
strong,  maternal,  to  Piney,  who  had  been  wonder 
ing  how  he  was  to  tell  her,  calling  himself  a  fool 
for  having  undertaken  to  tell  her,  reminding  him 
self  that  he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  begin. 
Here,  suddenly,  the  girl  was  making  it  easier  for 
him,  showing  him  that  the  way  to  begin  was  to 
begin. 

"  I  wouldn'  tell  you  the  trouble  ef  I  could  he'p 
it,  Miss  Sally,"  he  said  pleadingly,  his  hands  shut 
about  his  knees,  his  eyes  beseeching  as  a  fawn's. 
"  Ef  they  wuz  inny  way  to  make  things  come  aout 
rat  lessen  I  told,  I  wouldn'  tell.  But  I  don'  see  no 
way."  It  was  easier  to  talk  up  to  the  thing 
and  around  the  thing,  than  to  get  directly  into 
it. 

"Is  it  your  own  trouble,  Piney?"  she  asked, 
helping  again. 

"  No'm." 

"  Whose  trouble,  Piney?  " 

"  Mist'  Steerin's,  Miss  Sally." 

"  Ah !  "  She  leaned  nearer  Piney.  "  Tell  me 
quickly,  dearie,"  she  said,  "  is  he  ill  ?  " 

[  246  ] 


A   MISTAKE    SOMEWHERE 
"  Well'm,  it's  your  trouble,  too,  Miss  Sally." 
"  Yes,  surely,  Piney,  go  on,  go  on ! " 
"  And  your  father's  trouble,  Miss  Sally." 
"  Something    about    the    Tigmores,    I    suspect, 
then,  Piney,  go  on." 

"  Yes'm,  abaout  the  hills."  Then,  fortunately 
for  both,  his  youth  made  up  in  directness  what  it 
lacked  in  finesse.  "  It's  fthis-a- way,  Miss  Sally,"  he 
blurted  savagely,  "  Ole  Bruce  Grierson  is  dead  an' 
Mist'  Steerin'  owns  the  Tigmores." 

Her  face  shone  with  joy.  "  But,  Piney,  boy, 
where's  the  trouble  in  that?  When  did  Mr. 
Grierson  die?  That's  not  trouble  even  for  him, 
Piney.  He  was  a  weary  old  man.  When  did  he 
die?" 

"  Las'  September,  Miss  Sally,"  answered  the  boy 
gravely. 

"  Last    September?     Last   Septem Why, 

where's  the  word  been  all  this  while,  Piney?     Why 
hasn't  my  father  known  ?  " 

"  He — he  has  known,  Miss  Sally.    Miss  Sally,  it 
was  this-a-way,  simlike :  that  ole  man  writtend  Mist' 
Madeira  he  wuz  goin'  to  die  an'  he  tol'  Mist'  Ma 
deira  to  give  the  hills  to  Mist'  Steerin'.     But  I 
[247] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

don't  reckon  your  father  believed  ole  Grierson,  Miss 
Sally." 

The  girl  on  the  bench  under  the  crab-apple  tree 
was  beginning  to  draw  herself  up  proudly. 
"  There  is  some  mistake  somewhere,  I  can  see  that, 
Piney,  dear.  Where  did  you  learn  all  this  ?  " 

"  Wy,  Miss  Sally,"  cried  the  boy,  a  great,  pain 
ful  reluctance  in  his  voice,  "  that  old  varmint 
Grierson  writtend  another  letter  to  Unc'  Bernique 
an'  had  a  man  hold  it  up  an'  not  mail  it  till  las' 
week.  Then  he  lay  daown  an'  died.  An'  here  las' 
week  the  letter  to  Unc'  Bernique  was  mailed,  aouter 
ole  Grierson's  grave  like — an'  Unc  Bernique  he's 
jes  got  it,  an'  it  tells  him  that  ole  Grierson  died  las' 
September  an'  that  he  writtend  your  father  to  say 
so." 

"  I  don't  understand  that,  Piney.  Mr.  Grierson 
died  last  September  and  has  written  letters  since  he 
died,  you  are  getting  it  all  mixed,  aren't  you?  " 

Very  slowly  and  laboriously  Piney  told  then  what 
he  knew,  told  it  over  and  over  until  she  had  com 
prehended  it,  whether  she  believed  it  or  not.  When 
the  boy  had  finished  she  was  leaning  back  on  the 
bench,  dull  and  pale. 

[248] 


A    MISTAKE    SOMEWHERE 

"  But  it  isn't  true,"  she  said,  with  white  lips. 
"  And  Mr.  Steering,  Piney, — has  Uncle  Bernique 
told  Mr.  Steering  this  fantastic  tale?  " 
'  «  Yes'm." 

"  And  what  did  Mr.  Steering  say  and  do, 
Piney?" 

The  memory  of  what  Steering  had  said  and 
done  seemed  to  come  on  to  Piney  like  an  inspiration. 
"  Miss  Sally,  he  set  his  jaw  an'  he  ketched  Unc' 
Bernique  by  the  arm  an'  helt  him  an'  made  him 
swear  like  this,  '  You  by  your  love  for  Piney's 
young  mother,  I  by  my  love  for  Salome  Madeira, 
that  never,  s'help  us  God,  will  you  or  I  carry  word 
of  this  to  Crittenton  Madeira  and  his  daughter 
Salome ' — sumpin  like  that,  Miss  Sally.  I  don' 
adzackly  remember  the  words." 

The  dulness  had  all  gone  out  of  her  eyes,  the 
colour  beat  back  into  her  cheeks.  She  had  for 
gotten  Crittenton  Madeira.  "  '  I  by  my  love  for 
Salome' — are  you  sure,  Piney  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure,  Miss  Sally.  An'  so  I  thought  as 
wuzn't  nobody  else  to  tell  you,  I'd  tell  you.  I  d'n 
know  as  I  done  rat,"  the  boy's  face  was  all  a-quiver, 
too,  as  he  looked  up  at  the  girl  on  the  misty  heights 

[249] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

of  her  passion.  His  self-abnegation,  his  young 
heroism  made  him  for  the  moment  as  finely  luminous 
as  she  was.  Sally  Madeira  took  his  head  between 
her  hands  and  gazed  into  his  eyes  tenderly,  caress 
ingly,  and  there  was  in  her  touch  something  large 
and  sweet  and  tender  that  comforted  and  soothed 
the  boy  while  it  made  his  heart  leap  within  him. 

"  Ah,  Darling,"  she  said,  "  how  bitter-sweet  it  is, 
this  loving!  But  be  patient.  Some  day  it  will 
all  seem  right."  She  took  her  hands  away  from 
him  and  stood  up  straightly. 

"  I'm  going  in  to  my  father  now,  Piney. 
There's  a  mistake  somewhere.  You  wait  for 
me  here  until  I  get  it  all  explained.  Wait  here  till 
I  come  back." 

She  went  off  toward  the  house  then,  a  fragrant 
shower  of  orchard  blossoms  falling  upon  her  and 
shutting  her  away  from  the  boy's  eyes  as  she 
frent. 


[250] 


Chapter  Sixteen 
MADEIRA'S  PEACE 

ALLY  MADEIRA  crept  to  the  door  of  her 
father's  study  and  listened.  In  the  pallid 
light  that  was  stealing  up  to  her  from 
Piney's  story  her  face  was  shadowy,  with  hurtful 
doubt,  ashamed  fear,  and  she  steadied  herself  by  the 
wall  with  hands  that  shook.  She  had  stopped  to 
put  on  a  white  gown  that  her  father  loved  and  her 
lustrous  hair  lay  banded  closely,  a  halo,  about 
her  shapely  head.  Her  face  looked  like  a 
saint's. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  to  save  Bruce  Steering's  in 
heritance  for  him,  it's  to  save  my  father  for  my 
self."  Her  lips  moved  stiffly  as  she  whispered. 
"  My  old  dream-father,  my  idol,  I  cannot  live  with 
out  him !  "  As  she  opened  the  door  and  passed  in, 
she  felt  as  though  he  had  been  away  on  a  long 
journey  and  that  this  might  be  the  hour  of  his 
return. 

Inside  Madeira  sat  at  his  desk,  Bruce  Grierson's 
[251] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

letter  spread  out  before  him,  the  ghost  of  his 
torture.  At  night  he  heard  it  move,  with  a  spectral 
rustling,  under  his  pillow  where  he  kept  it.  By 
day  it  writhed,  a  small,  hot  thing,  over  his  heart. 
He  had  tried  again  and  again  to  destroy  it. 
Everything  else  that  had  got  in  his  way  he  had 
destroyed,  but  this  he  had  not  destroyed.  He  was 
trying  to  destroy  it  now,  but  he  returned  it  to  his 
pocket,  unable  to  destroy  it,  ruled  by  it,  when  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  saw  his  daughter  before  him. 
She  had  not  been  without  foresight  even  in  her 
shame  and  sorrow.  She  had  taken  great  pains  to 
gown  herself  especially  for  him,  especially 
to  establish  her  influence  over  him.  He  held  out 
his  arms  to  her  lovingly.  In  the  sickness  of  soul 
and  body  now  upon  him  he  had  turned  more  and 
more  to  her;  she  had  to  be  with  him  almost  con 
stantly. 

"  You  look  so  sweet,"  he  said.  "  You  are  sweet 
est  like  this.  I  love  you  like  this."  Despite  the 
relief  that  came  when  with  her,  he  talked  nervously, 
his  mouth  jerking.  His  hands  wandered  to  her 
head,  and  he  held  her  face  and  peered  at  her. 
"  Sally,  I  wish  I  was  a  girl  like  you,"  he  said, 
[252] 


MADEIRA'S   PEACE 

"  girls  look  so  peaceful.     Business  tangles  a  man, 
— just  to  have  peace,  Sally." 

"  It  will  come  Father,  it  will  come.  Father, 
Piney  rode  in  from  the  hills  just  now,  and  he 
brought  me  news." 

He  could  feel  the  tremor  of  her  lithe  body  against 
his  breast,  and  he  moved  quickly  and  uneasily,  sus 
pecting  danger.  His  dreams  had  so  long  been 
terror-fraught  that  he  was  all  nerves  and  suspicion. 
"News  of  what,  Sally?"  The  whitest,  deadest 
voice,  for  so  simple  a  question ;  on  his  face  the  most 
awful  strain!  She  drew  back  on  his  knee  and 
looked  at  him  steadily,  lovingly,  and  his  eyes 
dropped  and  his  hands  began  to  drum  on  the  chair- 
arm. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  Piney  has  heard  a  long 
story.  He  was  hid  on  the  bluff -side,  up  at  Red- 
bud,  and  he  heard  a  letter  read  at  the  shack  there, 
a  dead  man's  letter." 

"  A  dead — oh,  God  bless  you — wait — Sally,  did 
that  move  ?  eh,  what  foolishness  is  this,  a  dead  man's 
letter?  What  dead  man?  eh?  what  dead  man?  " 

"  Bruce  Grierson,  father." 

"  They  lie !     They  lie !     Let  them  prove  it !  " 

[253] 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 
"Ah,  that  was  what  I  told  Piney,  Father!  I 
knew,  I  knew  that  you  could  explain  it.  And  you 
can  now,  and  you  will,  Father?  "  She  was  really 
beseeching  him  to  rise  up  against  her  and  the  ac 
cusation  against  him,  rise  up  in  a  great  storm  of 
indignation;  she  was  praying  that  he  would  do 
that,  expecting  that  he  would,  so  firm  were  her 
convictions  of  his  nobility.  She  drew  back  a  little, 
to  give  him  room,  as  it  were ;  her  hands  fell  upon 
his  knee,  and  she  leaned  from  him  the  better  to  see 
him,  her  face  aglow  with  her  fierce  hope,  her  big 
belief,  while  she  waited  for  that  storm,  that  out 
raged  denial,  that  tremendous  vindication.  And 
while  she  waited,  erect,  hopeful,  eager,  he 
shrank  in  upon  himself;  crumpled  and  wrinkled  in 
upon  himself  until  he  looked  weazened  and  small. 

"  Let  them  prove  it,  let  them,"  a  whining 
mumble. 

"  They  will  not,  Father."  She  was  leaning 
toward  him  again,  her  face  quiet  as  the  first 
frightened  dawn  of  a  grey  morning ;  her  voice  was 
beaten  and  sad,  but  she  went  on  dauntlessly.  "  The 
letter  was  to  Uncle  Bernique,  Father.  And  Bruce 

Steering  read  it.     And  though  it  told  him  that  he 
[254] 


MADEIRA'S   PEACE 

was  the  owner  of  the  Tigmores,  he  and  Uncle 
Bernique  will  not  prove  it."  For  a  moment  she 
paused,  and  then,  with  some  new  purpose  on  her 
face,  she  began  again,  "  There  was  an  oath  to  make 
all  sure  that  they  would  not  prove  it.  Listen, 
Father,  these  were  the  words  of  the  oath :  *  Swear, 
I  by  my  love  for  Salome  Madeira,  you  by  your  love 
for  Piney's  young  mother,  that  never,  so  help  us 
God,  shall  one  or  the  other  of  us  carry  word  of  this 
thing  to  anyone,  least  of  all  to  Crittenton  Ma 
deira  and  his  daughter,  Salome !  " 

"  Ah-h-h !  "  The  words  of  the  oath  seemed  to 
bring  Madeira  his  first  brief  respite  in  a  long  tor 
ture.  The  girl  shivered  at  such  relief,  then  went 
on  resolutely: 

"  So  now  you  see,  Father,  everything  is  safe.  I 
have  come  to  let  you  know  that  everything  is  safe, 
that  you  need  not  be  troubled,  sleeping  or  waking, 
any  more  about  this  thing.  You  may  keep  the 
Tigmores  as  long  as  you  will,"  the  light  of  her 
eyes  beat  upon  him  like  a  rain  of  pure  gold,  "  you 
may  be  as  rich  as  you  like,  Father.  Mr.  Steering  is 
to  leave  here;  you  need  never  be  dispossessed  dur 
ing  your  lifetime.  It  is  all  safe  and  sure. 
[255] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Uncle  Bernique  will  not  tell,  Mr.  Steering  will  not 
tell,  Piney  will  not  tell,  I  shall  make  no  sign." 
The  tragic  strength  of  her  endeavour  to  make  him 
see  that  it  was  all  with  him ;  to  leave  it  all  to  him ; 
if  so  be  that  the  better  part  were  to  be  chosen,  to 
make  him  choose  it  for  himself ;  re-establish  himself 
in  so  much  as  was  possible  for  her  loving  regard, 
was  in  the  hot  clasp  of  the  young  hand  that  she 
laid  upon  him,  the  sweet  earnestness  of  the  face  that 
leaned  toward  him.  It  was  a  strange  fight,  a 
battle  of  vast  forces.  He  began  to  shake  like  an 
aspen  leaf,  but  his  eyes  lifted  to  hers  presently,  to 
drink  from  them  as  from  a  fountain  of  life.  His 
lips  moved. 

"  Just  to  have  peace,"  he  gasped  hoarsely,  "  take 
that  letter — take  it  from  my  pocket — send  it  to 
Steering." 

"  Father !  "  It  was  the  cry  of  victory  well  won. 
"  Father !  I  am  so  glad !  "  over  and  over  again. 
"  All  my  life,  Father,  I  have  expected  the  good 
thing  to  happen  because  of  you,  the  right  thing, 
I  am  so  glad !  "  Laughing,  crying,  she  kissed  him, 
took  the  letter  and  stole  to  the  door.  "  Piney  shall 
be  its  bearer,"  she  cried  as  she  went,  "  Piney  shall 
[256] 


MADEIRA'S   PEACE 

take  it;  he  will  say  the  very  best  that  there  is  to 
say !  " 

She  ran  out,  and  the  door  swung  quickly  behind 
her,  so  that  she  did  not  see  that  he  put  his  hand 
over  his  empty  pocket  and  held  his  heart  with  a 
great  relief ;  then  pitched  forward  suddenly,  his 
head  on  the  desk,  a  look  of  late-come,  profound 
peace  on  his  face. 


[257] 


Chapter  Seventeen 
JUST  A  BOY 

IT  was  not  quite  dark  when  Piney  left  Miss 
Sally  Madeira  in  the  garden  back  of  Ma 
deira  Place,  the  Grierson  letter  in  the  inside 
band  of  his  hat.  The  pretty  spring  day  had 
closed  in  grey  and  sullen,  and  a  high  wind  tore 
through  the  bluffs.  Up  in  Canaan  people  were 
going  anxiously  to  their  windows,  and  trying  to  de 
cide  what  was  about  to  happen  out  there  in  that 
whirl  of  dust  and  wind  and  high-spattering  rain. 
Down  at  Madeira  Place  it  was  grey,  windy,  and 
damp,  but  the  rain  had  not  come  on  yet.  Piney 
went  down  the  bridle-path  from  the  Madeira 
grounds  and  out  into  the  river  road  at  a  gal 
lop,  and  the  pony  sped  on  like  mad  toward  the  little 
shack  down  stream  at  Redbud.  All  the  way  Piney 
kept  a  watch  on  the  Di,  which  was  sucking  and 
booming.  Long  before  he  reached  Redbud  the 
boy  had  begun  to  hope  that  Steering  had  not  put 

through  his  evening  programme  to  that  last  num- 
[258] 


JUST   A    BOY 

her  of  going  back  to  Redbud  by  water,  after  the 
haunting  visit  to  the  waters  about  Madeira 
Place.  The  river  seemed  very  black  and  restless 
with  the  long  urge  of  the  spring  rains  within  her. 
Now  and  again,  he  called  loudly,  prompted  by 
some  fear,  he  knew  not  what : 

"  Steerin' !     Steerin' !    Steerin' !  " 

He  reached  Redbud  by  and  by,  to  find  no  Steer 
ing,  only  the  little  empty  shack.  The  lean  bunks, 
swaddled  roughly  in  their  bedding,  looked  strangely 
deserted.  Piney  sat  down  on  Steering's  bunk  for  a 
moment  to  take  breath.  Once  his  hand  patted  the 
covers,  and  once  he  stooped  down  and  clung  to  the 
pillow. 

"  Oh,  may  God  bless  you !  For  I  love  him,  my 
dear  Piney!  Bless  you,  for  I  love  him,  my  dear 
Piney !  "  he  kept  saying  over  and  over,  with  an 
hysterical  quaver  in  his  voice,  his  lips  pale  and 
moving  constantly.  "  Oh,  may  God  bless  you,  for 
I  love  him,  my  dear  Piney !  "  It  was  what  Salome 
Madeira  had  said  to  him  when  he  had  left  her,  a 
white,  angelic  figure,  swaying  a  little  toward  him, 
there  in  the  garden  back  of  Madeira  Place.  "  Oh, 
may  God — for  I  love  him !  " 
[259] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

The  odour  of  Bruce's  cigars  hung  about  the 
shack.  Piney  jumped  up  suddenly  and  went  down 
close  to  the  Di  to  wait  and  think.  At  Redbud  the 
river  seemed  fiercer  than  farther  up-stream.  One 
of  the  two  skiffs  that  rocked  there  usually  was  there 
now,  swashing  up  and  down  in  the  current,  but  the 
other  was  gone.  There  was  a  strong  eddy  in  front 
of  Redbud.  The  bar,  Singing  Sand,  and  the  Deer- 
lick  Rocks  choked  up  the  bed  of  the  river  and  made 
the  water  dash  vehemently  through  a  narrow  chan 
nel.  Logs  went  by  and  branches  of  trees.  Piney 
paced  the  bank  in  a  rising  fever  of  impatience, 
calling,  calling;  but  for  a  long  time  his  call  was 
without  avail,  the  wind  roared  so  def  eatingly  in  the 
trees.  Close  into  Deerlick  Rocks  drifted  a  great 
fleet  of  logs. 

"  Mist'  Steerin' !  Mist'  Steerin' !  "  The  sweet 
tenor  broke  again  and  again,  but  again  and  again 
Piney  pitched  a  vast  effort  into  it.  And,  at  last,  an 
answer : 

"Halloo!  That  you,  Uncle  Bernique?  I've 

been "  The  voice  was  wind-blown,  and  slipped 

weakly  away. 

"It's  ME!  Where  are  you?"  No  answer. 
[260] 


JUST   A   BOY 

"  Where  are  you?  Hi!  Is  that  you  by  the  bar? 
Lif '  your  han'  above  the  drif '-wood !  Cayn't  you 
lif'yourhan'?" 

A  hand  shot  up  from  the  back  of  a  log  that  was 
well  hidden  by  other  flotsam,  then  fell  back  weakly. 

"Ay,    here   I    am!      Dead-beat,   Piney "      A 

long  roar  of  wind  shut  off  the  rest. 

"  Hold  to  your  log.  I'm  a-comin' !  comin' !  corn- 
in'  !  "  The  tenor  rang  and  rang  across  the  water  as 
Piney  loosed  the  skiff  from  its  moorings,  took  up 
the  oars,  and  pushed  out  into  the  Di.  With  the 
force  in  that  whirl  of  black  water  he  realised  that 
there  was  danger ;  the  skiff  trembled  and  leaped  as 
though  some  wrathful  vEgir  caught  and  shook  it. 
It  was  well  for  Steering  that  Piney  was  strong,  with 
the  strength  of  the  hills  and  the  woods  and  the 
quiet. 

As  he  went  on  some  sort  of  revulsion  seized  Piney. 
He  stopped  calling  and  began  to  mutter  blackly. 
"  Wisht  you'd  draown !  Wisht  you  uz  dead ! 
Wish-to-hell,  you  never  needa  been ! " 

The  log,  with  its  one  lamed  passenger  was  drift 
ing  slowly  in  toward  Singing  Sand,  and  Piney  came 
on,  hard  after  it.      When  he  reached  it  at  last, 
[261] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Steering  was  quite  speechless,  but,  with  the  boy's 
help,  scrambled  into  the  skiff,  where  he  slipped  like 
water  to  the  bottom,  the  fight  back  being  altogether 
Piney's. 

When  Steering  could  talk  at  all,  he  gasped  out 
how  it  had  happened.  He  had  gone  much  farther 
up  than  Madeira  Place,  and  had  not  put  his  boat 
about  until  two  hours  before ;  and  then  only  because 
a  great  many  logs  were  coming  down,  and  he  de 
cided  that  he  did  not  want  to  be  caught  among  them 
when  night  should  drop.  He  had  got  along  all 
right  until  a  log  smashed  into  his  skiff  and  over 
turned  him.  He  thought  he  must  have  struck  his 
head  as  he  went  over.  At  any  rate,  things  were 
very  mixed  for  a  good  while.  He  knew  that  he 
had  swum  for  what  seemed  to  be  hours,  and  that 
then  he  had  realised  that  he  was  numb,  and  had 
used  what  little  strength  he  had  left  to  climb  upon 
another  log  that  passed  him.  He  had  been  on  it 
ever  since,  flat  out,  an  eternity. 

Piney  was  getting  the  skiff  inshore  fast,  as 
Steering  talked,  and  once  Steering  stopped  to  ad 
mire  his  youthful  vigour.  He  was  a  strong  man 
himself,  and  it  was  a  new  sensation  to  lie  weakly 


JUST   A    BOY 

admiring  strength  in  somebody  else.  "  Do  you 
know,  Piney,  I'm  dead-beat,"  he  whispered. 

"  You've  had  a  good  deal  to  stan'  in  more  ways 
than  one  to-day,"  replied  Piney. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  asked  Steering. 

"  We're  a'most  in." 

It  was  only  a  few  minutes  later  that  Piney  ef 
fected  his  landing,  and,  river-lashed  and  dripping, 
both  scrambled  out  and  fell  on  the  bank  by  the  Red- 
bud  shack.  For  a  little  while,  even  Piney  was  past 
any  further  exertion,  but  when  he  could  use  him 
self  again,  he  got  up  agilely,  hunted  up  dry  wood 
and  made  a  roaring  fire.  The  twilight  had  closed 
into  night  now ;  the  rain  had  shifted  with  the  wind 
and  passed  by  Redbud.  Piney  brought  a  blanket 
from  the  shack  and  wrapped  Steering  in  it.  Be 
fore  the  fire,  Steering  lay  with  his  eyes  shut  for  a 
time,  a  smile  on  his  face.  "  You  are  precious  good 
to  stand  by  me  like  this,  Piney,"  he  said  once. 
"  Where  have  you  been  for  so  long,  you  stingy  nig 
ger  ?  Why  have  you  cut  me  lately  ?  " 

"  Well,  I— oh,  I  d'n  know  adzackly."  Piney's 
voice  was  flat,  his  face  tragic.  He  was  heaping 

wood  on  the  fire,  and  in  the  yellow  flare  he  looked 
[263] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

pale  with  the  exhaustion  of  his  work  on  the  ri\er 
and  the  excitement  under  which  he  was  labouring. 
During  this  last  half  hour  that  he  had  been  working 
hard  to  save  Steering,  taking  care  of  him,  helping 
him,  he  had  had  another  revulsion  of  feeling  that 
had  swung  him  up  close  to  his  hero  again.  But 
crisis  was  still  following  crisis  in  his  emotions. 

"  Well,  you  turned  up  at  just  the  right  minute 
for  me,  Piney.  How  did  you  happen  along?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wuz  a-huntin'  fer  you,  I  reckon.  I  wuz 
sent  aout  to  hunt  fer  you.  I  gotta  letter  fer  you, — 
f'm — f'm  Miss  Madeira." 

Steering  opened  his  drowsy  eyes  and  regarded 
Piney. 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  gotta  letter  fer  you.  Y'see, 
Miss  Sally,  she's  found  aout  sumpin — sumpin 
that  you  didn'  want  her  to  find  aout."  The  fire 
leaped  and  crackled;  Bruce  leaned  away  from  its 
scorch,  nearer  to  Piney.  "  Y'see,  she  knows  abaout 
the  Tigmores  naow,"  went  on  Piney  steadily. 
"  Unc'  Bernique  didn'  tell  her.  I  told  her." 

"  Piney !  "     Steering,  warm  with  wrath,  turned 
upon  Piney  savagely,  "  You  little  fool !  You  brutal 
little  fool !  "  he  cried  fiercely.     "  It's  a  good  thing 
[264] 


JUST   A   BOY 

that  you're  just  a  boy,  Piney — and  you,  you!  pro 
fess  to  love " 

"  Mist'  Steerin'."  Piney  had  a  man's  dignity  all 
in  a  minute.  "  I  didn'  ast  you  fer  no  leave  to  tell 
her,  an'  I  don't  ast  you  fer  nothin'  naow.  But  she 
had  to  know.  I  hearn  Unc'  Bernique  tellin'  you 
abaout  that  Grierson  letter.  I  hearn  you  read  the 
letter.  I  hearn  you  an'  Unc'  Bernique  swear.  Then 
I  swore,  too.  Then  I  went  an'  told  her.  And  then 
she  saw  her  father,  an'  she  leffen  it  to  her  father  to 
make  things  right,  an'  he's  made  things  right. 
She  told  me  I  wuz  to  tell  you  that.  She  showed  him 
that  he  was  safe  to  keep  the  Tigmores  if  he  wanted 
to  keep  'em,  but  he  didn't  want  to  keep  'em.  She 
told  me  to  tell  you  that.  An'  she  told  me  to  give 
you  this  letter."  Piney's  young  body  rocked 
now  with  a  hushed,  sobbing  fervour;  he  lifted  his 
peaked  hat  from  his  head,  took  the  letter  from  the 
inner  band,  and  pushed  it  into  Bruce's  hand. 
"  This  letter  kim  to  her  father  a  long  time  ago,  and 
she  ast  me  to  ast  you  to  think  of  her  father  abaout 
it  gentle  as  you  can — an'  I'm  a-astin'  you  to  think 
of  him  gentle,"  the  lad's  voice  suddenly  rose 

shrilly,    and   he    jumped   to   his    feet,    "  an'    I'm 
[265] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

a-bustin9  to  have  you  say  you  won't  think  of  him 
gentle,  er  sumpin  'at  I  cayn't  stan'  an  '11  hit  you 
fer!  I'm  jesta  boy,  Mist'  Steerin',  but  good 
God!" 

Bruce  got  to  his  feet,  too.  When  he  caught 
Piney's  flaming  eye  at  last,  they  stood  and  faced 
each  other  a  great  moment,  then  Bruce  put  his  hand 
out. 

"  Piney,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  were  half  the  man 
that  you  are." 

"Oh,  Mist'  Steerin'!  Mist'  Steerin'!"  On 
Bruce's  shoulder,  he  sobbed  like  a  child  until  the 
terrific  strain  that  he  had  been  on  for  hours  slack 
ened,  and  he  could  talk  again. 

"  She's  waitin'  fer  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "  She's 
up  yonder  in  the  garden,  waitin'.  She  loves  you, 
Mist'  Steerin'.  Don't  you  go  fergit  that,  with 
y'all's  pride  an'  all.  She  loves  you." 

"  What  ?     What's  that  you  are  saying,  Piney  ?  " 

"  She  loves  you.  I  know  it,  Mist'  Steerin'.  An' 
I'm  a-tellin'  ev'  durn  thing  I  know ! "  declared 
Piney  vehemently,  with  a  high-toned,  stubborn 
self -justification  in  his  voice. 

"  Dog-on  you,  old  man,"  Bruce  said,  turning  to 

[266] 


JUST   A   BOY 

grip  Piney's  hand  again.  He  had  it  in  mind  to 
say  a  great  many  other  things,  in  the  way  of  ap 
preciation,  thanks,  enthusiasms,  but  all  he  said  was 
"  dog-on  you,  old  man,  dog-on  you,"  gripping 
Piney's  hand  as  he  said  it.  "  You  make  yourself 
comfortable  here  in  the  shack  to-night,  will  you,  old 
man,  and  I'll  go  on  up  there.  They  are  in  a  little 
trouble  over  this  up  there,  Piney."  Steering  tore 
the  Grierson  letter  to  bits  as  he  spoke,  and,  then,  his 
eyes  wet  and  shining,  he  found  Piney's  pony  and 
went  to  her  in  the  garden. 

Piney  lay  back  on  the  ground  beside  the  fire. 
The  glow  fell  squarely  over  his  features,  relaxed 
and  softened  now.  He  looked  very  hopefully  and 
comfortingly  young.  There  was  a  big,  shy  grati 
fication  on  his  face. 

" '  Old  man,* '  he  muttered  once  or  twice. 
"  '  Old  man.'  '  A  little  sob  shivered  through  him. 
He  got  up  quickly  and  went  into  the  shack  bunk, 
where  he  fell  asleep  at  once — because  he  was  so 
young — and  dreamed  fine  dreams  of  Italy — be 
cause  he,  too,  was  fine. 


[267] 


Chapter  Eighteen 

A    PRETTY    PRECARIOUSNESS 

A  Bruce  galloped  up  the  river  road  toward 
Madeira  Place,  he  found  himself  so 
weak  with  excitement  and  physical  ex 
haustion,  that  he  had  to  bow  over  the  saddle-horn 
and  cling  there,  like  an  old  man.  It  was  a  ride  to 
remember.  Once  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
out  into  the  night.  The  storm  had  broken,  and 
high  in  the  quivering  heavens  the  moon  shone  with 
a  wild,  palpitant  glory.  In  the  north  and  east  the 
clouds  had  gathered  with  a  mighty  up-piling,  from 
which  the  eye  sank  back  affrighted,  it  towered  so 
near  heaven.  The  trees  along  the  river,  the  shak 
ing,  shimmering  river  itself,  were  all  shot  with  light. 
It  was  a  grand  scene,  but  removed,  turbulent,  un 
real.  Steering's  strength  failed  him  again,  and 
he  fell  back  over  the  saddle  and  hung  on.  There 
come  times  in  a  man's  life,  good  times  as  well  as  bad 
times,  when  he  can  do  nothing  but  hang  on.  On 
these  dizzying  peaks  of  happiness,  Steering  scarcely 


A  PRETTY  PRECARIOUSNESS 
dared  let  himself  look  beyond  the  pony's  nose.  He 
was  so  high  up,  so  near  the  consummation  of — oh — 
of  everything.  It  would  be  ridiculously  easy  to  set 
matters  straight  now,  in  one  way  or  another.  She 
loved  him !  If  that  were  true,  it  would  make  every 
thing  else  come  right.  And  that  was  true.  Piney 
had  been  sure  of  it,  and  Piney  had  just  left  her. 
Everything  else,  all  life,  could  be  made  to  close 
around  that  salient,  delicate  fact  like  the  rose- 
leaves  close  around  the  heart  of  the  rose.  Let  her 
father  keep  the  hills ;  he  did  not  care,  if  he  could 
have  the  girl.  He  did  not  care  about  anything,  if 
he  could  have  the  girl.  And  he  could  have  the  girl. 
Thank  God  for  that. 

Little  by  little  he  began  to  allow  himself  a 
meagre  consciousness  that  he  was  drawing  nearer, 
nearer!  Now,  just  below  the  grounds  of  Madeira 
Place!  Now,  up  along  the  bridle-path!  Now,  at 
the  garden  gate ! 

He  leaned  over  the  pony's  head,  slipped  the  gate 
latch,  and  passed  into  the  garden.  Dismounting, 
he  tied  the  pony,  and  turned  toward  the  house. 
Dark,  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  behind  it,  the 
house  lay  very  quiet,  unlighted,  infinitely  peaceful. 
[269] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

In  front  of  the  negro  cabin  at  the  side  of  the  house, 
Bruce  could  see  Samson,  his  chair  tilted  against  the 
cabin  wall,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  his  bare  feet 
swinging  contentedly.  From  inside  the  cabin  came 
the  low  croon  of  Samson's  fat  black  wife.  Some 
hens  clucked  sleepily  in  the  hen-house.  With  the 
moonlight  disintegrated  and  softened  by  the  trees, 
everything  up  toward  the  house  breathed  peace. 
Out  here  in  the  garden,  however,  where  the  gold 
light  beat  down  straightly,  there  was  a  sense  of 
waiting,  unrest,  sweet  and  tumultuous.  Out  here  in 
the  garden  it  was  glorious,  but  it  was  not  peaceful. 
What  was  it  that  was  responsible  for  that 
misty  halation  of  incompleteness,  longing?  the 
shaking  breath  of  the  wide-lipped  roses  ?  the  secrets 
within  the  bowed  slender  lilies?  the  tortured  joy  of 
the  whole  garden  life  of  fragrance  and  beauty? 

Over  by  the  old  vine-covered  stump  there  was  a 
gleam  of  white,  swaying  a  little,  breathing  a  little, 
it  seemed,  and  Steering  went  toward  it,  strength 
coming  back  into  his  limbs,  his  head  lifting  as  he 
came,  his  arms  outheld. 

"  I  hoped  that  you  would  come,  Mr.  Steering.    I 
have  been  waiting  a  long  time  for  you,"  she  said, 
1270] 


A  PRETTY  PRECARIOUSNESS 
not  moving,  her  eyes  meeting  his,  something  in  her 
face,  her  rigidity,  stopping  him.  Her  hands  were 
pale  and  still  on  the  grey-green  of  the  vines;  her 
face  had  caught  the  wild,  gold  gleam  of  the  moon. 
"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  myself  about  that  letter,  Mr. 
Steering.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  myself  about  the 
Tigmores  being  yours.  I  have  grown  afraid,  out 
here  in  the  dark,  that  Piney  might  not  have  been 
able  to  make  you  understand,  might  have  misled 
you  in  some  way  about — what  I  said.  I  was  very 
much  excited  when  I  talked  to  Piney,  Mr.  Steering, 
and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  made  it  clear  to  him  that 
I  am  very  glad  indeed  that  the  hills  are  yours  at 
last;  glad  because  we  are — or  have  been — such 
good  friends,  Mr.  Steering,  glad  for  that  reason — 
for  friendship's  sake,  and  for  nothing,"  her  voice 
wandered,  and  the  beat  of  her  low  broad  breast 

was  girlishly  pitiful,  "  else,  but  friend "  she 

could  not  go  on. 

"  Ship,"  suggested  Bruce,  with  a  great  desire  to 
help  her,  but  very  much  at  sea.  Was  it  to  be 
failure,  after  all?  Had  Piney  made  a  vast  mis 
take.  This  proud,  pale  woman  here — suddenly  an 
awful  timidity  seized  him,  but  he  shook  himself  out 
[271] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

of  that  brusquely  and  came  on.  "  She  loves  you, 
don't  you  go  fergit  that!  "  Piney's  admonition 
piped  up  to  him  on  a  high  and  tuneful  memory. 
He  realised  that  he  was  walking  a  path  through  the 
flower-tangled,  pretty  precariousness  of  romance  as 
he  came  on  toward  her — potential  lovers'  quarrels, 
separation,  the  irate  parent,  a  girl's  pride,  her  fool 
ish,  solemn  effort  to  fight  him  back  for  fear  that  she 
had  led  him  on  too  far,  a  man's  uneasy  timidity,  the 
complication  of  their  circumstances — the  memory 
of  them  all  made  little  snares  for  his  feet,  as  he 
came  on  toward  her.  But  he  came  on,  growing 
bolder  as  he  came,  deciding  what  to  do  as  he  came. 
It  was  a  crisis  for  romance  as  he  faced  her  across 
the  old  vine-covered  stump.  He  put  his  hands  down 
on  the  stump  near  her  hands,  and  his  face  caught 
the  gleam  of  the  light  overhead,  as  hers  did. 

"  Piney  has  just  pulled  me  out  of  the  river,"  he 
said  in  a  wan  voice,  "  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
get  here.  I — I  am  as  shaky  as  a  kitten." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  betrayed  into  it  by  his 
careful  conservation  of  that  weakness  in  his  voice, 
and,  seeing  how  pale  he  was,  her  hands  stole  in 
under  his.  "  Oh,  but  I  am  weak,  and  sick ! "  he 

[272] 


A   PRETTY   PRECARIOUSNESS 

went  on,  pursuing  his  advantage  mercilessly,  his 
hands  closing  over  hers,  while  her  face  leaned  to 
ward  him,  all  lit  and  trembling,  "  I  am  weak,  but  I 
love  you  so !  " 

"Ah — h!"she  cried,  a  shaking,  joyful  cry, 
"  you  ought  to  have  said  that  long  ago,  Bruce ! 
Tying  my  hands  all  winter !  Now,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter  which  of  us  owns  the  old  hills,  does  it?  " 

It  was  there,  under  the  pale,  wild  light  of  the 
moon,  with  the  wide-lipped  roses,  the  slender-bowed 
lilies,  the  tremulous  fragrance,  the  delicate  unrest, 
the  tortured  joy  of  the  garden's  life  of  beauty  all 
around  them,  that  she  crept  into  his  arms  shyly  and 
radiantly.  The  trees  rustled  with  low  glad  music, 
and  the  night  air  seemed  full  of  mystic  influences, 
blessings,  happinesses. 

From  the  quiet  house  beyond,  there  drifted  to 
ward  them  the  sense  of  late-come,  profound  peace. 


[273] 


1 


Chapter  Nineteen 

WHEN    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 

HERE  was  a  vast  turmoil  in  Canaan. 
For  the  matter  of  that,  there  was  a  vast 
turmoil  far  out  the  road  toward  Poeti 


cal,  and  away  across  Big  Wheat  Valley,  and  all 
over  We-all  Prairie.  The  very  air  was  a-tremble. 
In  Canaan  all  the  stores  were  closed  or  closing. 
Court  House  Square  was  full  of  vehicles  that  seemed 
poised  at  the  very  moment  of  departure;  people 
were  laughing  or  talking  excitedly,  with  foolish 
good-humour,  as  though  they  did  not  know  what 
they  were  saying,  but  realised  that  it  made  precious 
little  difference  whether  they  knew  or  not.  Chil 
dren  were  being  lifted  into  waggons,  surreys,  bug 
gies.  Great  hampers  were  being  stowed  and  re 
arranged  under  the  seats  of  the  vehicles,  sometimes 
tied  to  the  single-trees  to  swing  there  with  solemn, 
heavy  gaiety.  Young  men,  very  alert,  in  red  neck 
ties  and  unbuttoned  kid  gloves,  wheeled  and  turned 
recklessly  through  the  streets  in  light  road  sulkies, 
[274] 


WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
drawn  by  high-stepping  trotters.  Dogs  trotted 
about  with  their  tails  in  the  air,  sniffing,  quiver 
ing;  there  was  a  warm,  cutting  smell  of  harness, 
axle-grease,  horse-flesh.  The  sun  beat  down  upon 
it  all  and  into  it  till  the  whole  scene  hung  electrified, 
etched  out  in  light,  a  supreme  moment  on  the  very 
top  of  Canaan's  history. 

Then  a  young  boy,  with  a  red  sash  strapped 
over  his  right  shoulder  and  under  his  left  arm, 
cantered  up  on  a  pony,  pony  and  boy  both  tre 
mendously  important. 

"  Piney's  marshal  er  the  day,"  said  a  big  man, 
laughing  indulgently. 

"  D'you  know  the  Steerin's  air  sendin'  that 
tramp-scamp  to  Italy?  "  called  another  man  with  a 
bewildered,  incredulous  inflection  in  his  voice. 

"  Well  he  cand  go  f  er  all  me.  You  couldn'  pull 
me  aouter  Mizzourah  with  pothooks  these  days," 
declared  the  big  man  earnestly.  "  What's  that  the 
tramp-boy's  sayin'  naow?  " 

The  tramp-boy  was  making  a  trumpet  of  his 
hands.  "  All  ready !  "  he  shouted,  with  one  of  his 
high,  musical  yodels,  "  Le's  start !  " 

The  lesser  activities  of  stowing  away  hampers, 
£275] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

locking  store  doors,  wiping  children's  noses, 
broadened  quickly  into  a  wide  concerted  movement. 
Everybody  was  picking  up  his  reins.  Everybody 
was  clucking  to  his  horse.  Every  horse  was  start 
ing.  Everybody  was  gone.  Canaan  was  deserted. 

A  long  irregular  cavalcade  crept  out  across  the 
country  toward  Razor  Ridge.  And  as  it  went  it 
was  constantly  augmented  at  the  cross-roads  by 
farmers  from  We-all  and  Big  Wheat  and  Pewee, 
until  waggons  and  surreys  and  buckboards  and 
buggies  and  horseback  riders  stretched  out  end 
lessly,  the  balloons  of  the  children,  the  red  neckties 
of  the  young  men,  the  gaily  flowered  hats  of  the 
girls  making  the  spectacle  joyous.  Then,  too, 
everybody  was  laughing,  everybody  was  glad  about 
something. 

When  the  cavalcade  began  to  defile  past  Madeira 
Place,  wild  cheers  rang  out.  Samson  at  the  side  of 
the  big  house,  inspanning  the  Kentucky  blacks, 
took  the  demonstration  to  himself  with  hysterical 
joy,  bowing  and  gesticulating,  doubling  over  and 
holding  his  stomach,  while  he  danced  up  and  down, 
his  white  teeth  showing,  his  eyes  rolling. 

"  Hurrah  f  urrum !     Hurrah  f  urrum !  "  came  in 
[276] 


WHEN    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 
a    great    rollicking    volume    of    sound    from    the 
road. 

"  Thass  all  ri'.  Yesseh!  Thanky !  Thass  all  ri'. 
Yasseh !  You  bet !  "  yelled  Samson  up  by  the  house. 

A  girl  in  a  gauzy  black  gown  and  a  drooping 
black  hat  came  out  on  the  front  porch  of  the  house 
and  waved  to  the  passing  people. 

"  We'll  be  along !  Yes,  we  are  coming !  Yes, 
we'll  hurry !  "  There  were  bright  tears  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  A  man  came  out  of  the  house  and  stood 
behind  her,  his  arm  on  the  door  post,  his  face  smil 
ing.  She  turned  to  him,  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  the 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Aren't  they  pretty  splendid  ? "  she  cried,  a 
fine  enthusiasm  on  her  face  as  she  watched  the 
people,  "  Look  at  them !  There's  something  in 
them!  There's  the  best  of  all  America  in  them! 
And  they  will  have  their  chance  now." 

For  answer  the  man  put  his  arm  about  her. 
"  Greatest  State  in  the  Union,  this  Missouri,"  he 
said  with  tremendous  conviction.  "  Where's  Uncle 
Bernique?  " 

"  Gone  an  hour  ago." 

"  Well  then,  can't  we  start,  too?  " 
[277] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

The  same  tingle  of  impatience  seemed  to  reach 
both  at  once.  They  ran  back  into  the  house. 

The  cavalcade  wound  on  up  Ridge  Road  toward 
the  Tigmores.  At  its  far-away  end  now  trotted  the 
Kentucky  blacks,  drawing  a  light  trap.  The 
man  on  the  box-seat  was  a  big,  deep-chested  man, 
long  and  powerful  of  forearm.  He  held  the 
exuberant,  snorting  blacks  easily  with  one  hand. 
The  woman  beside  him  was  a  good  mate  for  him, 
firmly  knit,  strong  in  her  movements.  Under  her 
black  hat  the  burnish  of  her  hair  and  skin  made  her 
look  gold-dusted. 

They  were  high  up  Razor  Ridge.  Below  the 
Ridge,  Big  Wheat  Valley  and  We-all  Prairie 
stretched  away  from  the  Tigmore  foot-hills  in  broad 
strips  of  harvest  gold.  The  sky  was  brilliantly 
blue;  even  Choke  Gulch's  glooms  were  flecked  with 
light.  The  scrub-oak,  the  dog-wood,  the  chinca- 
pin,  the  walnut,  the  hickory,  sumach  and  sassafras 
trailed  over  the  Tigmores  like  a  giant  green  veil. 
On  beyond  the  Tigmores  the  pale  wide  Di  ran 
slowly,  goldenly,  a  molten  river. 

As  the  procession  went  on  up  the  hill  the  people 
called  from  one  waggon  to  another,  their  tongues 
[278] 


WHEN    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 
set  going  by  the  passing  of  Madeira  Place  and  the 
advent  of  the  Kentucky  blacks  into  the  procession. 

"  They  say  Miss  Sally,  Miz  Steerin',  that  is,  feels 
mighty  broke  up  because  her  paw  didn'  live  to  see 
all  that's  a-goin'  on  this  day." 

"  Yass,  reckin's  haow  that's  true." 

"  Howdy,  Miz  Bade,  haow  you  come  on?  " 

"  Huccome  you  to  come,  Asa?  " 

"  They  say  the  Steerin's  air  goin'  away  to-night. 
Goin'  back  East  on  a  visit." 

"  Yass,  that's  true.  The  tramp-boy  is  goin' 
along.  D'you  know  that  ?  Yass,  goin' to  N' York, 
on  his  way  to  Italy.  The  Steerin's  air  sendin' 
him." 

"  Well,  they  cand  all  go  whur  they  please,  I 
wouldn'  leave  Mizzourah  these  days,  not  me.  Wy? 
ev'  farm  in  the  Tigmores  is  liable  to  turn  into  a 
zinc  mine  any  night.  Say,  do  you  know  air  the 
Steerin's  to  be  long  gone  ?  " 

"  Nope,  not  so  long.  Unc'  Bernique's  to  run 
things  while  they  away." 

"  Oh,  well,  then." 

The  cavalcade's  forerunners  had  now  reached  the 

top  of  the  Tigmore  Uplift.     They  began  to  de- 
[279] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

ploy  into  the  woods  overhanging  Choke  Gulch. 
A  trail  had  been  cut,  the  trees  were  down 
until  it  was  possible  to  get  through  with  the 
vehicles,  though  it  was  rough  going.  At  the  end 
of  the  newly  made  road  a  great  clearing  opened 
up  to  the  on-coming  people.  The  teams  were 
driven  over  to  a  thicket  and  the  people  spilled  out 
of  the  vehicles  and  swarmed  over  the  clearing. 
One  by  one,  then  two  by  two,  in  their  hurry,  the 
teams  came  in,  until  everybody  had  arrived.  The 
Kentucky  blacks  came  last.  Then  there  was  a 
waiting,  a  restraint,  the  people  looked  at  one 
another.  Finally  their  uneasiness  and  unspoken 
question  were  answered  by  an  edict  from  the  mouth 
of  a  small  upright  Frenchman,  who  mounted  a 
stump  and  declaimed  with  a  great  flourish  of 
graceful  pomposity : 

"  'Tis  the  wish  of  Mistaire  and  Meez  Steering 
that  none  go  to  the  mill  until  that  the  bar-r-becue 
shall  be  end."  He  was  generously  applauded  and 
his  fine  shoulders  stiffened  responsively.  This  was 
the  sort  of  thing  that  Fran£ois  Placide  DeLassus 
Bernique  liked. 

The  people  contented  themselves  within  the  clear- 
L280] 


WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
ing  the  little  time  that  remained  of  the  morning. 
At  one  side  of  the  clearing,  fenced  off  by  ropes,  was 
a  long  trench,  across  which  stretched  poles  of  tough 
green  hickory.  On  top  of  these  poles  lay  great 
quarters  of  beeves,  whole  hogs,  slit  through  the 
belly  and  spread  wide  till  the  dressed  flesh  wrinkled 
into  the  back-bone  in  thick  layers,  sheep,  tongues, 
venison,  an  army's  rations.  Down  in  the  trench 
glowed  the  red-hot  coals  of  a  vast  Vulcan  fire,  set 
going  the  night  before  and  fed  and  beaten  all  night 
into  its  present  perfect  equability.  Up  and  down 
the  sides  of  the  trench  walked  men  in  great  aprons, 
long-handled  brushes,  like  white-wash  brushes,  in 
their  hands.  These  brushes  they  dipped  into 
buckets  of  salt  and  pepper,  strung  along  the  trench 
at  regular  intervals,  and  smeared  the  sizzling  meat, 
a  sort  of  Titanic  seasoning  process. 

Rough  pine  boards,  supported  on  tree  stumps, 
formed  long  lines  of  tables  on  which  loaves  of  bread 
were  piled  two  feet  high.  Beside  the  bread 
were  great  buckets  of  pickles, preserves,  jams, whole 
churns  of  butter,  cheeses,  cakes,  pies,  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  them,  as  though  the  whole  world  had 

become    one    enormous    maw    with    an    enormous 
[281] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

clamour  for  food.  The  rich  aroma  of  the  sizzling 
meat  and  the  slow  sweet  scorch  of  the  green  hickory 
poles  drifted  up  into  the  trees  and  hung  there,  a 
visible  odour,  tantalising,  insistent.  The  men  who 
had  got  into  their  wives'  aprons  and  had  begun  to 
cut  sandwiches  at  the  long  tables  were  invited  to 
hurry  up.  The  men  who  were  varnishing  the  meat 
with  salt  and  pepper  were  told  that  they  were  too 
slow.  The  boys  who  had  begun  cracking  ice  were 
applauded.  The  girls  who  had  begun  to  squeeze 
lemons  were  offered  help.  The  women  who  had 
begun  to  set  out  knives  and  forks  and  plates  were 
interrupted  and  set  back  by  hoots  of  encourage 
ment.  Children  were  stepped  on  and  soothed,  a 
continuous  performance.  The  committee-on-cook- 
ing  got  in  the  way  of  the  committee-on-washing- 
the-dishes ;  the  committee-on-waiting-on-the-table 
almost  came  to  blows  with  the  committee-on-slicing- 
the-bread.  Toward  noon  the  scramble  for  places 
began.  Then  the  people  began  to  gorge.  There 
was  a  constant  reaching  and  grabbing.  The  clear 
ing  resounded  with  phrases  of  intricate  politeness : 

"  Thank  you  to  trouble  you  fer  one  them  pickles, 
Si." 


WHEN    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 

"  Please'm  gi'  me  a  little  your  tongue,  Miz 
Bade." 

"  Reach  me  some  more  bread,  if  you  don't  care 
whut  you  do,  Quin." 

Beyond  the  long  tables  little  private  parties  sat 
here  and  there,  ranged  around  red  table-cloths,  flat 
on  the  ground,  stuffing,  greasy-fingered,  hospitable, 
happy. 

Beyond  these  little  parties,  off  in  the  young  trees, 
in  the  buggies  and  buck-boards,  were  still  smaller 
parties,  the  red-necktie  young  men  and  the  girls 
with  bright  flowers  in  their  hats,  two  and  two,  two 
and  two,  all  through  the  thicket,  each  duet  very 
happy,  drinking  out  of  one  tin  cup,  the  red-necktie 
young  man  assiduously  putting  his  lips  -to  the 
cup  on  the  spot  where  the  girl's  lips  had  touched 
it. 

Everybody  ate  incessantly.  At  first  to  appease 
hunger;  then  probably  because  of  a  dim  prevision 
that  by  the  middle  of  next  week  some  reproachful 
memory  might  assail  one  if  one  did  not  do  one's  full 
part  by  the  present  abundance.  It  was  not  until 
the  sun  had  long  passed  the  zenith  that  the  gorging 

and  stuffing  came  to  an  end,  and  then  it  was  only 
[283] 


SALLY    OF    MISSOURI 

because  word  began  to  circulate  among  the  people 
that  "  the  mill  was  open  " ;  that  "  the  people  could 
go  down  now,"  in  fine,  that  the  great  hour  of  that 
great  day  had  come.  Following  upon  the  rumour, 
Fran£ois  Placide  DeLassus  Bernique  again 
mounted  a  stump.  This  time  he  said : 

"  I  am  authorise'  to  make  to  you  the  announce 
ment  that  the  first  mill  of  the  Canaan  Mining  and 
Development  Company  is  now  to  commence  to 
r-r-un,  and  to  invite  you  in  the  name  of  Mistaire 
Steering  to  assemble  in  the  Choke  Gulch,  there  to 
behold  the  begin'  of  a  new  e-r-a  of  pr-r-osperitee 
for  thees  gr-r-eat  State  of  Missouri. .  But  before 
that  we  go,  I  ask  your  attention  for  the  one  moment 
to  those  word  of  our  fellow-citizen,  Mistaire  Steer 
ing  !  "  He  stopped,  reluctantly  but  heroically,  and 
Steering,  quitting  the  side  of  the  girl  in  black, 
mounted  the  stump. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  Steering,  "  it  was 
my  wife's  idea  to  make  the  opening  of  the  first  mill 
of  the  Canaan  Mining  and  Development  Company 
a  gala  day,  a  holiday,  and  I  believe  that  you  are  all 
prepared  to  agree  with  me  that  it  was  a  good  idea. 
All  that  I  want  to  say  to  you  now  for  myself  and 
[284] 


WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
for  Mr.  Carington,  and  for  the  eastern  gentlemen 
whose  money  Mr.  Carington  represents,  is  just 
this:  A  great  opportunity  has  opened  up  for  us 
all  down  here.  A  new  Missouri  is  about  to  be  made. 
All  our  dreams  are  coming  true.  The  golden  har 
vest  of  our  wheat  fields  has  been  found  to  be  rooted 
deep  in  mines  of  wonderful  richness.  But  just 
because  we  have  found  something  inside  these  hills 
of  ours,  don't  let's  neglect  the  outside  of  the  hills. 
We  must  cultivate  and  improve  on  the  outside,  while 
we  dig  down  deep  on  the  inside.  Life  is  going  to 
give  us  chances  from  now  on  that  we  have  never 
had  before.  As  a  people  we  must  rise  to  these 
chances  all  along  the  line.  We  must  come  up  all 
along  the  line.  We  must  get  better  schools,  better 
houses,  better  barns,  better  farming  implements, 
better  kitchen  implements,  better  roads.  Our 
watchword  down  here  in  the  Southwest  must  be  to 
come  up.  Don't  forget  it.  We've  got  our  chance 
now,  now  we  must  come  up !  " 

Bruce  sat  down  and  the  people,  who  had  listened 
to  him  attentively,  the  faces  of  the  farm-women 
especially  keen  and  responsive,  broke  into  another 

vast  applause  that  set  the  leaves  astir. 
[285] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Somebody  began  to  insist  then  that  somebody  else 
ought  to  make  a  speech  of  thanks,  appreciation,  to 
the  Steerings  for  the  day,  and  for  the  general  satis 
faction  and  prosperity  that  had  come  into  Canaan 
with  the  new  regime  of  the  Canaan  Company's 
affairs.  Everybody  began  to  turn  toward  Mr. 
Quin  Beasley.  Those  nearest  him  nudged  him. 
Very  slowly  Mr.  Beasley  got  to  his  feet,  mounted 
the  stump,  fell  off  and  mounted  it  again. 

"  Frien's  an',"  Mr.  Beasley's  scared  eye  lit  upon 
some  children  just  beneath  him  who  were  regarding 
him  with  awe  and  the  ecstatic  hope  that  he  would 
fall  off  again,  and,  encouraged  by  the  awe,  he 
levelled  his  next  words  at  them  powerfully,  "  Fellow 
Citizens !  Taint  f er  me  to  say  anythin'  more 
ceppen  only  that  ef  I  did  say  anythin',  which  I 
shan't,  it  'ud  jes  be  to  say  over  whut  Mist'  Steerin' 
lias  said  as  bein'  the  whole  thing,  an  fer  that  reason 
I'll  say  nothin'." 

It  was  a  master  stroke !  Never  in  his  life  before 
had  Beasley  refrained  from  saying  anything  be 
cause  he  had  nothing  to  say.  The  Canaanites  were 
impressed.  They  said,  "  Good !  Good !  "  For 

fear  of  some  anticlimax  Bruce  at  once  gave  his  sig- 
[286] 


WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
nal  and  the  people  began  to  swarm  down  the  hill 
side  into  Choke  Gulch,  defiling  through  the  Gulch 
toward  a  great  shed  that  stood  backed  up  to  the 
hillside  arrogantly.  Although  all  Canaan  had 
watched  the  building  and  rigging  day  by  day,  in 
Choke  Gulch,  the  sight  of  the  shed  made  the  people 
almost  hysterical,  as  though  they  had  never  seen 
the  "  plant  "  of  the  Canaan  Mining  and  Develop 
ment  Company  before,  the  shack  office,  the  tool- 
house,  the  big  proud  mill  shed,  the  tramway,  the 
hoister.  There  was  a  group  already  ranged  at  the 
door  of  the  engine-room  as  the  people  came  on. 
Bruce  Steering  and  his  wife,  Old  Bernique,  and 
the  tramp-boy  were  in  the  centre  of  the  group. 

"  We  are  all  steamed  up !  "  cried  Bruce.  "  Make 
ready  there,  boys!  Hurrah  for  the  greatest  zinc 
run  in  the  greatest  State  in  the  Union!  Now, 
Piney!" 

The  tramp-boy,  on  his  face  an  unaccustomed  ap 
preciation  of  this  larger  side  of  the  workaday 
world,  stepped  back  inside  the  engine-room,  laid  his 
hand  on  a  throttle,  and  at  the  signal,  as  if  by  magic, 
there  was  a  whirr  of  slipping  bands,  a  mighty 

throb,  the  renewed  fashing  of  water  down  the  jigs, 
[287] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

a  grinding,  a  pounding,  a  crunching,  a  gurgling; 
and  a  long,  resonant  shout  went  up  again  and  again 
from  the  elastic  throats  of  the  exalted  Canaanites ; 
for  the  first  mill  of  the  Canaan  Mining  and  Devel 
opment  Company  was  running ! 

Later  on  someone  over  in  the  crowd  spoke. 
"  Pity  Mist'  Crit  Madeira  aint  here  to  see  all  this. 
Haow  he  woulda  taken  to  it.  That  son-in-law  of 
his  woulda  jes  adzackly  suited  Mist'  Crit.  Pity 
he  had  to  die  off  sudden-like  jes  whend  ev'thing 
wuz  comin'  araoun'."  It  was  a  woman's  voice  and 
it  was  all  softened  with  pity. 

"  Yass,  oh  yass,"  said  a  man  next  her  gingerly. 
He  was  a  man  who  had  not  believed  in  Crit  Ma 
deira,  but  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  was  not  the 
time  or  the  place  to  recall  that. 

The  evening  of  that  gala  day  was  a  glorious 
evening.  Rich  and  warm  and  beautiful,  self-in 
dulgent  nature  had  swaddled  herself  about  in 
barbaric  bands  of  colour,  a  drowsy  opulence  of 
green  and  scarlet,  soft-toned  amber  and  pale, 
veiled  azure.  It  was  an  hour  when  the  senses  riot 

in  carnival,  when  colour  sings   and  sound  seems 

[288] 


WHEN    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 

pink  and  gold,  when  light  is  fragrant  and  flowers 
emit  sparks  of  light. 

Steering  and  his  wife  stood  in  the  Garden  of 
Dreams  and  the  hour  swirled  up  to  them  out  of  the 
sunset,  mystical,  urgent,  sweet.  The  house  was 
shut  and  locked  behind  them.  Below  them  was  the 
shivering  Di.  Off  beyond  them  tumbled  the 
Canaan  Tigmores.  Canaan,  the  proud,  lay  to  the 
West  in  a  fecund  waiting. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Steering,  "  I  do  not  like 
to  leave  Missouri,  Sally,  not  even  for  a  little  while, 
not  even  to  show  you  to  Carington  and  El 
sie.  We've  no  business  along  with  brides  and 
grooms  anyway,  we've  been  married  two  months. 
I  wish  we  weren't  going  to  leave  Missouri, 
Sally." 

She  turned  her  face  up  to  him  banteringly ;  her 
travelling  hat  was  in  her  hand ;  above  her  black 
gown  her  bright  hair  shone  with  its  beautiful 
lustres.  "  They  must  get  along  without  you  here 
for  a  little  while,  Mr.  President  of  the  Canaan 
Mining  and  Development  Company.  I  need  some 
clothes." 

"  Lay   hold   on   my  title   gently,   please,   Mrs. 
[289] 


SALLY   OF    MISSOURI 

Steering.     Every  time  I  hear  it  I  feel  that  it  needs 
more  glue." 

"  Mrs.  Steering !  That's  something  of  a  title, 
too,  isn't  it?  But,  after  all,  who  is  so  proud  of 
newcome  titles  as  the  Superintendent  of  the  Gulch 
Mine,  Fra^ois  Placide  DeLassus  Bernique,  eh, 
Mistaire  Steering?  " 

"  Old  chap's  satisfaction  is  good  to  live  in.  Oh, 
we  are  all  happy,  happy !  Elsie  and  Carington 
seem  to  be  hitting  -it  off  well,  too,  don't  they  ?  " 
Steering  heaved  a  benevolent  sigh,  as  though  he 
felt  that  he  had  missed  something  whose  missing 
was  little  short  of  escape.  He  regarded  the 
magnificent,  glowing  woman  beside  him  worship- 
fully.  "  Hark !  "  he  cried  next,  "  Piney's  happy 
too,  dear  boy.  That's  the  best  of  all!  Hear 
that!" 

From  the  river  road  below  the  garden  came  the 
sound  of  the  pony's  galloping  feet  and  down  by 
the  sheen  of  the  river,  the  tramp-boy  was  outlined 
presently,  a  gallant  young  figure,  full  of  life  and 
fire. 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  meet  you  at  the  station,"  he 
called  up  to  them.  "  I'm  a-sayin'  good-bye  to 


WHEN  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
Mizzourah!  D'you  think  Italy's  a-goin'  to  beat 
this,  Miss  Sally?  "  He  indicated  the  shimmering 
river,  the  woods  beyond,  the  wonderful  sky  in  the 
west,  with  a  half -homesick  gesture,  then  dashed  on 
down  the  river  road,  gay  with  anticipation  again, 
carolling  the  potato  song  lustily: 

"  The  taters  grow  an9  grow,  they  grow!  " 

"  That  was  a  fine  idea  of  yours,  Sally,  to  send 
him  to  Italy.  I  suppose  he  will  have  to  be  disap 
pointed,  for  Italy,  with  him,  is  all  dream-stuff ;  still, 
life  would  never  have  been  fulfilled  for  Piney  with 
out  Italy." 

"  No,  it  wouldn't.  And  he  won't  be  disap 
pointed.  You  see,  it's  the  music  in  him.  That 
will  count  big  some  day.  And  Italy  is  the  place 
for  him  to  find  himself.  He  won't  be  disappointed, 
and  we  shan't  be  disappointed  in  him.  He  is  worth 
his  chance.  But  see  how  low  the  sun  is,  Bruce. 
We,  too,  must  say  good-bye  to  Missouri  now,  if  we 
are  to  make  the  train.  Take  your  last  look  until 
we  come  back  to  it  all." 

The  fragrance  trembled  about  them.  The  pale 
wide  Di  quivered  below  them.  Far  to  the  west 
flamed  the  sunset.  Down  through  the  ether 

[291] 


SALLY   OF   MISSOURI 

dropped  great  swaying  draperies  of  orange  and 
purple.  Fair  into  the  heart  of  heaven  unrolled  a 
path  of  violet  and  blue  and  rose. 

Young,  ancestral,  sweet,  she  stood  there  beside 
him,  his.  Steering  turned  his  eyes  from  the  dusky- 
gold  radiance  of  her  face  and  hair  to  the  land 
beyond,  where  his  hills  billowed  toward  him  with 
mighty  promise,  submerging  him  again,  reclaiming 
him,  as  they  had  done  on  a  lonely  day  not  one  year 
gone,  making  a  Missourian  of  him,  as  it  had  done 
on  that  day.  The  girl,  the  land,  he,  all  the  world, 
seemed  banded  in  a  golden  irradiation. 

"  Oh,  Missouri !  Missouri ! "  he  cried,  with  a 
joyful,  trembling,  upleaping  of  spirit,  his  arms 
shut  close  about  his  wife,  his  eyes  coming  back  to 
her  as  to  the  spirit  of  this  new  and  wonderful  West, 
"  You  glorious  State !  You  sweet,  wide  land !  I 
adore  you ! " 


THE    END. 


[292] 


Author  of  "The  Cardinal's  Snuff  Box" 

MY  FRIEND  PROSPERO 

r 

A  NOVEL  which  will  fascinate  by  the  grace 
and  charm  with  which  it  is  written,  by  the  de 
lightful  characters  that  take  part  in  it,  and  by 
the  interest  of  the  plot.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
a  magnificent  Austrian  castle  in  North  Italy, 
and  that  serves  as  a  background  for  the  work 
ing  out  of  a  sparkling  love-story  between  a 
heroine  who  is  brilliant  and  beautiful  and  a 
hero  who  is  quite  her  match  in  cleverness  and 
wit.  It  is  a  book  with  all  the  daintiness  and 
polish  of  Mr.  Harland's  former  novels,  and 
other  virtues  all  its  own. 

Frontispiece  in  colors  by  Louis  Loeb. 
$1.50 


&  Co, 


Author  of  "  A  Gentleman  of  France  " 

THE  LONG  NIGHT 

r 

GrENEVA  in  the  early  days  of  the  1  7th  century; 
a  ruffling  young  theologue  new  to  the  city ;  a 
beautiful  and  innocent  girl,  suspected  of  witch 
craft  ;  a  crafty  scholar  and  metaphysician  seeking 
to  give  over  the  city  into  the  hands  of  the  Savoy 
ards  ;  a  stern  and  powerful  syndic  whom  the 
scholar  beguiles  to  betray  his  office  by  promises 
of  an  elixir  which  shall  save  him  from  his  fatal 
illness  ;  a  brutal  soldier  of  fortune  ;  these  are  the 
elements  of  which  Weyman  has  composed  the 
most  brilliant  and  thrilling  of  his  romances. 
Claude  Mercier,  the  student,  seeing  the  plot  in 
which  the  girl  he  loves  is  involved,  yet  helpless 
to  divulge  it,  finds  at  last  his  opportunity  when 
the  treacherous  men  of  Savoy  are  admitted  within 
Geneva's  walls,  and  in  a  night  of  whirlwind  fight 
ing  saves  the  city  by  his  courage  and  address. 
For  fire  and  spirit  there  are  few  chapters  in 
modern  literature  such  as  those  which  picture  the 
splendid  defence  of  Geneva,  by  the  staid,  churchly, 
heroic  burghers,  fighting  in  their  own  blood  under 
the  divided  leadership  of  the  fat  Syndic,  Baudi- 
chon,  and  the  bandy-legged  sailor,  Jehan  Brosse, 
winning  the  battle  against  the  armed  and  armored 
forces  of  the  invaders. 

Illustrated  by  Solomon  J.  Solomon. 
$1.50 

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>eton  JEerrttnan 


Author  of  "The  Sowers,"  etc. 

BARLASCH  OF  THE  GUARD 


JL  HE  story  is  set  in  those  desperate  days  when 
the  ebbing  tide  of  Napoleon's  fortunes  swept 
Europe  with  desolation.  Barlasch  —  "  Papa 
Barlasch  of  the  Guard,  Italy,  Egypt,  the  Dan 
ube  "  —  a  veteran  in  the  Little  Corporal's  service 
—  is  the  dominant  figure  of  the  story.  Quar 
tered  on  a  distinguished  family  in  the  historic 
town  of  Dantzig,  he  gives  his  life  to  the  romance 
of  Desiree,  the  daughter  of  the  family,  and  Louis 
d'  Arragon,  whose  cousin  she  has  married  and 
parted  with  at  the  church  door.  Louis's  search 
with  Barlasch  for  the  missing  Charles  gives  an 
unforgettable  picture  of  the  terrible  retreat  from 
Russia  ;  and  as  a  companion  picture  there  is  the 
heroic  defence  of  Dantzig  by  Rapp  and  his  little 
army  of  sick  and  starving.  At  the  last  Bar 
lasch,  learning  of  the  death  of  Charles,  plans 
and  executes  the  escape  of  Desiree  from  the 
beleaguered  town  to  join  Louis. 
Illustrated  by  the  Kinneys. 

$1.50 


&  Co, 


Conan  Bople 


Author  of  "  The  Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
GERARD 


[^TORIES  of  the  remarkable  adventures  of  a 
Brigadier  in  Napoleon's  army.  In  Etienne  Ge 
rard,  Conan  Doyle  has  added  to  his  already  famous 
gallery  of  characters  one  worthy  to  stand  beside 
the  notable  Sherlock  Holmes.  Many  and  thrill 
ing  are  Gerard's  adventures,  as  related  by  himself, 
for  he  takes  part  in  nearly  every  one  of  Napoleon's 
campaigns.  In  Venice  he  has  an  interesting 
romantic  escapade  which  causes  him  the  loss  of 
an  ear.  With  the  utmost  bravery  and  cunning 
he  captures  the  Spanish  city  of  Saragossa  ;  in 
Portugal  he  saves  the  army  ;  in  Russia  he  feeds 
the  starving  soldiers  by  supplies  obtained  at 
Minsk,  after  a  wonderful  ride.  Everwhere  else 
he  is  just  as  marvelous,  and  at  Waterloo  he  is  the 
center  of  the  Avhole  battle. 

For  all  his  lumbering  vanity  he  is  a  genial  old 
soul  and  a  remarkably  vivid  story-teller. 

Illustrated  by  W.  B.  Wollen. 

$1.50 


,  Phillips  &  Co* 


IV 

Y75 

Young.  Rose 

E. 

sally  of  a 

issouri 



